In Mates
by Jonesn
Summary: Bella never thought that she would end up working in a correctional institute. But she needed a change from the mundane, and well, she may have found just what she was looking for within these prison walls. Inmate/Prison/Jail/Paroleward
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

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***Winner*** Most tantalizing lemon/Hottest dirty talk/Most panywetting Edward/ 3rd place public vote, Judge's honorable mention and I was ******SexyLexiCullen**'s pick**!** I'm honored, astounded, really! So many great stories! A big THANK YOU to all who voted for me!

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented **SUNFLOWER3759! (- Love her, she completes me : )**

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**In ****Mates**

If at any point in my life someone had told me I would end up working in a correctional institute, I would have laughed in their face. _Me? No. Never. _Yet, here I sit on this hard plastic chair, in this cold, sterile exam room, behind twenty foot walls, at the heart of a prison.

"Isabella Swan?" Standing to shake the hand of the woman that I would be replacing, I briefly rethink taking the job. She looked like she had seen some hard times. I was hoping it wasn't this place that had taken its toll on her.

"Please, just Bella." Holding out my hand in greeting, she looks down her nose at it, and again I hope this place wasn't the reason behind her callous demeanor.

"Okay, just Bella. I'm just Sue. Now, I understand that you have some hospital experience. Is that correct?" I drop my hand while she glances down at her notepad looking uninterested, bored.

"Yes. Six years worth." Huffing, she shakes her head. _What? Was that the wrong answer?_

"You do understand that this is much different from being in a hospital?" Attempting to cross her arms over her rather large chest, she stares me down, and I resist the urge to fidget.

"Yes." I had wanted different, but this woman had me on edge, and it came out more timidly than I would have liked. She had me second guessing myself.

"Yeah well, you're going to have to toughen your exterior or they're going to eat you alive. They know a pushover when they see one, and you sweetheart, are a pushover." Chuckling, she shakes her head, and I swallow thickly. She definitely had me second guessing myself.

"Follow me." Trailing after her down the long, concrete corridor, I try to keep up. She was quite spry for her apparent age, and size. I was impressed.

"This is the main hallway. This is the hallway you will take every morning, no exceptions. An injured inmate will be brought to you cuffed, and under guard watch, no exceptions. You are not to leave your post in the exam room for any reason except for medication passes, no exceptions. When you pass meds, DO NOT hand them their med cup. Always let them grab it off of the tray. You don't want them getting hold of that pretty little arm. There is a toilet in the exam room, and either lunch will be brought to you, or you can bring your own. And before you ask, yes, there is a fridge. And finally, I think it goes without saying, there will be absolutely NO fraternizing with the inmates." Turning back, she gives me the once over. "Understood?" Curtly, I give a nod.

"For the life of me, I have no clue why Lou hired you." She stops suddenly, and I collide with her backside. She seems unfazed by the intrusion. "Well, maybe I do. Ya know, those noisy high heeled shoes you wear may come in handy one day. A pretty little thing like you will need all the help she can get." She takes off again, and I struggle to keep up. _What the hell?_

"You'll soon learn that this place is different from the outside world, Miss Swan. You have to give back what you get, and you have to be able to take it. If you think you can handle it, training starts Monday eight AM. Be here at seven forty-five." Unlocking the barred door to the front entrance, she shoos me through it.

"Welcome to Clallam Bay, Miss Swan. And, good luck on your new position. You're going to need it."

()

"I don't like the idea of you working in a prison, Babe. It makes me uncomfortable. I'll worry about you." Mike, my live in boyfriend, whines while laying a guilt trip on me for the millionth time since I told him about the job offer.

"We've talked about this, Mike. I'm sick of the hospital. I need a change, and really there's no need to worry. No one's going to hurt me. They won't have a chance. And, there will always be a guard around when I'm with an inmate." I continue sorting through the mail as I explain this to him for the millionth time. He wasn't going to sway me, he was just going to annoy me.

"Well, what if we got married? That's a change. And, you wouldn't have to work there. You wouldn't have to work at all, Babe." I look up at him from under my reading glasses.

"Real romantic, _Babe."_ I snort. He could be such a chauvinistic ass sometimes.

"Hey, I can do romantic. You want romantic? I'll give it to you. Just don't take the job at that prison." Tucking a finger under my chin, he lifts my head so I would look at him.

"What do you say?" He looks at me questioningly, and I try not to roll my eyes.

"I say, learn how to properly propose to a woman and for the right reasons, and I'll think about it. Until then, no." Jerking my head from his hold, I go back to sorting the mail with a small smirk on my lips. That wasn't the first time he had casually mentioned marriage.

()

Bright and early Monday morning, I'm greeted at the front gate by none other than Sue, the happy helperton.

"Miss Swan, you came back, and with your high heeled shoes, no less. I have to say I'm surprised. Surprised, that you came back that is. The shoes were expected." Smiling my warmest smile, I give it back to her.

"As was your scowl, Sue. As was your scowl." Smirking, she tilts her head to the side.

"Well, well. That's more like it. I'm glad you brought your backbone. They're extra rowdy today." Sue takes off at an unnatural speed, and I'm hot on her heels. She was not getting me down today. No, sir.

"Do you remember the rules?" Nodding, I go over them in my head before I realize she couldn't hear the voice in my head.

"Yes. Definitely remember the rules." I hoped she wouldn't make me repeat them.

"Good. Cause with that outfit you're wearing, you're going to want to remember them." My stomach turns as the words leave her mouth, and I stop.

"Do you think this is too revealing?" I had chosen a grey pencil skirt that went to my knees, and a white button up blouse, buttoned to the top button. I refused to wear the shit brown polo that Sue was currently rocking. It would have done nothing for my complexion.

"Miss Swan, I can see the outline of your perky little breasts, and round firm ass. If I took notice, you can bet these men will. But hey, if inmate attention is what you're after, then more power to you. And just so you know, you would be getting more than your fair share if you were dressed in a brown potato sack. This will have them howling, literally." Quirking her eyebrow, she lets me know she's not joking and to be prepared. _Great._

We work at a fast pace as she teaches me the morning routine. Checking charts for any changed orders, going over the patients' medication administration records, and then separating the medications into labeled cups. It was tedious, particular, and not what I thought it was going to be at all. I was beginning to think I made a huge mistake, yet again.

"What's wrong, Miss Swan? Bored?" Sue was always right on it. Quick and to the point. And, that was actually one thing I would like to take away from this experience. She could keep the frizzy red hair, wrinkles, and all around rough exterior.

"Well, yes. I'm starting to think the hospital wasn't so bad." Sue laughs. She actually throws her head back and laughs.

"Oh, Miss Swan, you just wait." Shaking her head, she continues to chuckle under her breath as she picks up a tray.

"Grab that tray. It's time." Tray in hand, I swallow thickly. With all the mind numbing preparation, I had forgotten that I was going to be interacting with the inmates today, and I was nervous.

Sue gestures me ahead of her, and when the guard opens the door, my stomach drops. Layer upon layer of orange covered arms protrude from the cell doors, and the cat calls begin.

"Ow, ow, owwww!"

"What do we have here?"

"Fresh meat!"

"Ah, fuck yeah!"

"You are a tight little thing, aren't you?"

"Oh, shit! I got a cramp and the only fix is for the new nurse to sit on my face!"

"Damn, I bet her pussy tastes sweet."

Turning back to Sue, I'm sure I looked like a deer in the headlights. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide.

"Backbone, Miss Swan. Don't tell me you've lost it already." She gives me a reassuring smile, which was surprising. I had pegged her for the kind to throw you to the proverbial wolves. AKA horny inmates.

"Hey Yorkie! I'll sit on your face, and fix you real good!" Someone yells, and they all groan while Sue laughs. I was utterly disgusted. _What the fuck have I gotten myself into? _

The sexual slurs continued as we passed the medications. The guard walked directly behind us to keep the inmates acting accordingly, and I remembered all the rules until we came up on the last cell. Sue wasn't paying attention, and I was caught off guard.

"Can you pass me my cup, Miss?" He looked young, kind, and well behaved. I didn't think anything of it until I passed him his cup, and he grabbed hold of my wrist, pulling me roughly against the bars. The inmates go crazy, banging anything they could against the walls of their cells, and I can hardly hear his words over the hooting and hollering.

"What would you do for me to not break this pretty, little arm? Huh, princess? Would you suck my cock? Would you swallow it down your pretty, little throat? Would you eat my cum?" Before I could scream for help, his cellmate was up and pinning his head against the bars, and I was face to face with the green eyes of my orange clad savior. His eyes never left mine as he bends down to speak in my assailant's ear.

"Let go of that pretty little arm," Green eyes, says quietly. It's immediately dropped, and I step back. Sue shoves me from behind in the direction of the exam room. And when I lose sight of green eyes, I finally breathe.

"What the fuck, Swan? I thought I told you! DO NOT hand them the cup!" I felt chastised, embarrassed. I don't know what I was thinking.

"I know! I know! Lesson learned! It will NEVER happen again!" Sue pinches the bridge of her nose as I ring my hands and pace. I had energy surging through me that I needed to burn.

"Hey, Sue? I-5932 says he was hurt in all the excitement." The guard rolls his eyes, and my energy turns into panic. _Was that the guy that had threatened to break my arm?_ I didn't want to see the guy that had threatened to break my arm again. At least, not this soon.

"Sure thing, Crowley. Go ahead and bring him back." Sue laughs without humor as she turns back towards me.

"Looks like you've made a friend, Miss Swan. I think I'll let you handle this one on your own." Patting my shoulder she leaves, and I'm left alone. I didn't know how to take care of an injured inmate. Hell, I didn't even know how to take care of an uninjured inmate. _What was she thinking?_

I continue to pace until the door opens, and I'm met with a pair of green eyes. The same green eyes that saved me.

"I-5392, Nurse Swan." I smile up at the guard.

"Thank you, Officer Crowley. Please, call me Bella." When I look back at I-5932 he's looking at me. His face is unreadable.

"What seems to be the problem..?" I wait for him to offer his name.

"Edward." I smile, but his expression remains flat.

"Edward, what seems to be the problem?" Leaning against the counter, I take a moment to look at him as he shuffles across the floor to hop onto the exam table. His short, copper hair stands in disarray, and I wonder if it's naturally like that. I would think it would have to be given the prison amenities, but you never know. I admire his strong, chiseled jaw that's covered with at least a week's worth of growth. And, I could tell he had defined muscles, even through the orange jumpsuit. It actually looked good, or he made it look good. Either way, the jumpsuit was working for him.

"My wrist. It hurts." Walking over, I stand directly in front of him. His cuffs are hanging loosely, and clink with every small movement.

"Which wrist?" He holds out his right arm, and I take it, easily pushing the cuff back. Poking and prodding, I test for any sensitive areas, swelling or bruising. And, the humming that fills the air as I touch his skin doesn't go unnoticed.

"I don't see anything wrong, and you don't seem to be in any pain at the moment." When I meet his gaze, I unconsciously move closer, and my stomach touches his knee.

"No ring. But, do you have a boyfriend, Bella?" The sound of my name rolling off of his tongue momentarily stuns me, and I nod before dropping his arm, and stepping back.

He hums. "Lucky bastard. You do smell good." Jumping from the table, he leans down to speak into my ear, and I can feel his hot breath on my neck.

"And, I bet you taste just as good as you smell." My head snaps towards his as the guard roughly jerks him away from me, and I watch as he's escorted out. He turns to smirk at me just as the door closes, and I'm left with the remnants of his hot breath still tickling my neck.

()

The rest of the week passes by slowly with the same mind numbing preparation, and sexually repressed inmate banter. The only difference was that Edward was nowhere to be found. And, I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried. I thought about him a lot. His green eyes, his intense stare, and his hot breath. He had made an impression, and by Friday afternoon I was teetering on the edge of finding Sue so I could ask her what had happened to him. Thankfully, I didn't have to.

"Nurse Swan. I-5932 to see you." Officer Crowley opens the door further, and I watch as Edward shuffles in. I barely contain a gasp when I see his face. His left eye was puffy and bruised, and his lower lip had been busted.

"What happened to you?" Rushing over to him, I right myself before reaching up to caress his cheek. I was pretty sure that would be considered fraternizing. In all honesty, my obvious concern for him was inappropriate, and I needed to get it together.

"Ah, this is nothin'. You should see the other guy." Smirking, he tries to lean into me, but the guard jerks him back before shutting the door.

"I just had to protect what's mine. Three days in solitary was worth it." His intense stare is back, and I drop my gaze. Turning away, I pat the exam table.

"Hop up." I search for the cream to apply to his eye while he situates himself, and when I bend over to look in the lower cabinet, I hear him hum. I almost drop the tube when I turn back to face him.

His eyes were hooded, his nostrils were flared, and his lips were parted. Rolling my shoulders, I clear my throat, and walk over to stand in front of him. Casually placing myself between his spread knees, I squirt the cream onto my finger and spread it over the bruise. I don't back away when his legs come to touch either of my sides, and he leans in closer.

"So, what exactly do you have in here that would be worth protecting?" I try to cut the tension with conversation. He's so close that I can feel his breath on my face. I can feel the heat radiating off of his body. So close that if I stuck out my tongue, I would be licking his lips.

"The right to think or talk about your cunt." When my hand stills, he leans in further to whisper in my ear, and I shudder. "Out there, they like to think they can talk about what's between your legs. But, I fought for the right, and now they can't. Tell me, Bella. Does that boyfriend of yours like to eat your cunt?" His cuffed hand runs up the inside of my thigh, and lightly over the apex of my legs. And, I feel a gush of fluid leak out of me. "If you were mine, I would eat that pretty little pussy. I want to. And, I wouldn't be able to get enough."

When he pulls back, I follow his gaze to look over at Officer Crowley and I notice he's looking in the other direction. "I bet you would like that, huh Crowley? If I paid you enough you'd let me eat her cunt right here, right now, wouldn't you? You sick fuck. Would you want to watch? I'm sure that could be arranged." Smirking, he looks back down at me. "Oh, the possibilities are endless when you can meet a guard's price. So, what do you say, Bella? Will you let Crowley watch me eat you?" He raises his cuffed hands to move the hair from my shoulder, and he runs a thumb down the side of my neck. "Do you want my head between your thighs?" His thumb travels down, down to my nipple, and as he runs it over the hardened peak, I gasp. "Do you want me to make you come with my tongue?" At that moment he runs his tongue over the cut on his lip. Panting, I watch it. I watch as it glistens underneath the harsh, fluorescent lighting. And, yes, I do want him to make me come with it. But, I could never tell him that. That would definitely be fraternizing. Definitely.

()

After Edward left, I cleaned up the office, and thought about his tongue. On my walk through the building and out to my car, I thought about his tongue. On my drive home, while I was making dinner, while I ate dinner and discussed my day with Mike sans Edward's tongue, I still thought about it.

Mike would eat me out if I specifically asked for it, but I never did. He always seemed apprehensive. And, once you've had an unwilling tongue on your pussy, it wasn't something you really cared to experience again.

"I want to do it tonight. Are you in the mood?" This was how our relationship worked. We asked, we didn't assume. Mike looks up from his green beans, mid chew, and nods his head. He was probably surprised. He was usually the one doing the asking unless we had just watched a movie starring Robert Pattinson.

Standing up from the table, I leave the dishes and head towards the bedroom. "You coming?" I hear the clank of his fork then his hurried steps as he follows me. I never had to tell him twice. And as he lay sweating on top of me, I thought about a glistening wet tongue. Edward's tongue. And, I came quicker than I ever had.. twice.

()

Days turned into weeks, and soon I was on my own. But, Sue had left me a thoughtful parting gift. It was an ice pack, and a card signed with only two words.

Cool down.

At first, I worried that Edward's persistent visits, and my enabling of them was a little too conspicuous. But, then I remembered you couldn't get anything past Sue, and I calmed down.

It's not like anything had really happened. Just a few innocent touches, some chaste kisses, and one really hot make out session that was ended much too soon. I was sure that if he wasn't cuffed wrist to wrist a lot more would have happened, but Crowley refused to budge. And, I could respect him for that even though it was a major twat swat.

I hated to admit it, but I had it bad. When I couldn't be with Edward, I would sometimes watch him from the exam room window. On Mondays and Wednesdays he would run around the court yard in his grey, prison issued sweats. I missed him on Tuesdays and Thursdays when he lifted in the gym. Fridays were his day of rest, and my special treat. I would watch him sit atop the picnic table and smoke. He had a way of making it look cool and sexy. My favorite part was when he sucked in. His cheeks would hollow, giving an even more defined line to his jaw. But, then again, blowing out was always good too. He would pout as the smoked escaped from between his lips.

The guilt that I had concerning Mike came and went. I felt it when I was at home, but it was completely forgotten when I was within the walls of this prison. And, if I were being completely honest with myself, it felt more like I was cheating on Edward. I had refused Mike the past three times he asked for sex. Always with an excuse of a headache. I was going to have to come up with something better for next time.

"Nurse Swan. I-5932 here to see you." Smiling, I nod and stand from my seat. I would think of an excuse later.

"Sure thing, Officer Crowley." I wait until the door is closed until I sprint over, and wrap my arms around Edward's neck.

"I missed you, Beautiful." Whispering against me, Edward takes my bottom lip into his mouth to suck before releasing it, and I whimper when he lets go. He smelled like outside, smoke, and man.

"God, Bella! This half assed shit is driving me crazy! Do you think we could try something new? Would that be okay?" Looking up at Edward, I quirk an eyebrow and wait for him to elaborate. Dipping down to my ear, he takes the lobe into his mouth.

"I need to taste you." I feel him try to palm me over my skirt. The chain from his cuffs lays heavy on my leg. "I want to make you come with my tongue. Can I make you come, Bella? Please?" I'm a panting, wet mess as he runs his hand over me. And by the time he was done begging, I was done fighting. I obviously wanted his tongue on me, and I wasn't going to get it anywhere else. So, saying a silent prayer for my job and my soul, I take his hand and lead him over to the exam table.

Chancing a look over at Crowley, I see his eyes are hooded as he stares at my legs, and slowly I lift my skirt to bunch around my waist. Stepping up onto the exam table, I lie back and hook my thumbs in my panties. Edward watches as I slowly pull them down, and let them drop to the floor. Placing my feet apart at the edge of the table, I spread my legs, and Edward steps closer.

"Now, that's a pretty pussy. Crowley, you want to see?" I couldn't bring myself to care that he was inviting Crowley to share in our moment. He was the reason this was happening, and for that I could let him look. I could let him watch.

Edward hums before lifting a cuffed hand up to tease my soaked entrance with a probing finger, and I moan as he pushes two of them all the way in. I could hear the clanking of the chains against the table as he fucked me with them, and I nearly came just thinking about what I was letting him do, and where I was letting him do it.

I watch as he lowers his head between my legs, and sticks out his tongue to run it along my slit. It's glistening, like I remember, and my hand automatically goes to the back of his head to shove him into me. I have to stifle a loud moan as his mouth covers my clit, and he swirls his tongue around the swollen nub. I continue to watch with hooded eyes as he works at me.

His head bobs with every lick as his forearm contracts with every pump. And, the heat coming from his hot mouth combined with the flex of his stubbled jaw against my inner thighs, sends me over the edge much too quickly. Biting the back of my hand, I ride out the waves as Edward follows my movements with his mouth. And when I still, Edward places a soft kiss on my mound before licking my juices off his lips.

Hearing a groan, Edward and I look over at Crowley to find him with his pants open, and his hardened dick in his hand.

"Shit, Crowley, you sick fuck! Hurry up and un-cuff me. You can watch us fuck as you jack yourself off. Is that okay, Baby?" Edward looks back over at me, and I nod.

"Yes." Any other time I would have been embarrassed and refused to do this, but I knew he was using it as leverage to get free. And, I wanted him free. I wanted him free to fuck me good and hard.

"Fuck, man! You better not pull any shit." Without buttoning his pants, Officer Crowley makes his way over as I sit up to unbutton Edward's jumpsuit, and study his constantly covered body. A large black web covers the majority of his left shoulder, and the upper part of his left peck. I can see a winding spider underneath the strained material of his white wife beater, and I wonder if the reason he was in here was drug related. I had been so wrapped up in my lust for him that I never asked any questions. We never talked about our personal lives. And, he wasn't on any medication so I wasn't privy to his file.

"The only pulling around here will be done by you, Crowley. Now hurry the fuck up." I giggle as he clumsily searches for the key, and unlocks the cuffs. And when Edward lets them drop to the floor, I pull the jumpsuit off of his arms, and massage his wrists. After I kiss each one, his mouth covers mine, and I can taste myself as our tongues slip and slide against one another. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me to the edge of the table, and I moan into his mouth when I feel him hard and ready against my bare sex.

My mouth follows him as he pulls away, but he places a hand on my chest to lay me back as he releases his cock. The purple bulbous head leaks while the vein along the thick shaft throbs, and I watch with hooded eyes as he rubs it against my lower lips. He places himself just inside my entrance, and teases me with slow, shallow thrusts.

"God, Edward! Stop teasing, and just fuck me! Please!" He continues with the slow thrusts as he smirks like he hadn't been pussy deprived, and I wonder if maybe somebody else in here had offered it to him. But, those thoughts quickly dissipate with every pump as he sinks a little bit deeper. And, once he's completely sheathed, he finally moans. He watches in wonder as I groan and squirm underneath him like a needy slut, then grabs my hips to still me.

"Stop fucking moving or this is over before it starts." He lays his forehead on my chest, and now it's my turn to smirk as I run my hands through his sweaty hair. I liked that he was about to blow like a fifteen year old kid who was having sex for the first time. It was reassuring. It showed his vulnerability in the best way.

"It's okay. I already came, just do what you want. I promise I'll enjoy it. I just want to watch you come." I can feel the vibration of his loud groan against my chest as he starts to move, and I lift his head off of me. "I want to see you. Let me watch you come." His hooded eyes watch mine as I start to meet him thrust for thrust, and I lean up on my elbows to lick the lips of his gaped mouth. Looking down, I see his defined muscles contract with every pump of his hips, and I clench around him earning another strangled groan from deep in his throat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Crowley furiously working on his own cock, and I'm surprised that it excites me. Kissing up Edward's neck, I watch as Crowley humps the air with every pump of his hand, and soon I'm feeling the early signs of another orgasm tingling in my toes. Wrapping my legs around Edward's waist, I take him deeper, hitting a spot that no one's ever hit, and I moan out. His movements quickly become more and more erratic, and when I pull away to watch him, he holds me close. He clamps his teeth down on the hollow of my neck, and I feel his feral growl as he comes, sending me over the edge with him. The waves of pleasure are intensified as his teeth sink deeper into my skin, and I can't keep myself from yelling out from the sweet pain.

"Ungh!"

Our chests heave against one another, as he releases my surely pierced skin, and he holds me. I didn't want him to let go. I didn't want him to have to go back to that unwelcoming cell block. I wanted to take him home, to keep him safe, to fuck him whenever I wanted. But, when Crowley clears his throat, I know it's time.

Pulling back, Edward lifts me off the exam table to set me on the floor, and helps me fix my clothes. I bend down to lift his jumpsuit, and help him snap the buttons. And after one last hug, he kisses me sweetly as Crowley applies the cuffs back on his wrists.

I silently watch as he's escorted towards the door, and at the last minute he turns around with a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.

"Be sure to get rid of that boyfriend of yours. I'm up for parole in a month."

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I may or may not extend this.. What does everybody think? Do you want to know what happens?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented **SUNFLOWER3759! (- Love her, she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.**

**Wow, the response to this was/is amazing, and completely overwhelming. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! I read and loved each and every one! And all of you wanted more so, I'm giving you more. Enjoy!**

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**In Mates **

**Part II**

_**Edward**_

Running my tongue along the roof of my mouth, I can still taste her; salty-sweet, and metallic. Her blood lingers; tingling, taunting me. I want to sink them back into her; feel the give of frangible skin under my teeth. I need her; want to drink from her; every last fucking inch of her.

My dick twitches, and I give it a light squeeze over the loose fitting fabric. It's damp; seeped through from where it was pressed between her legs.

"That shit can't happen again. I've got a wife and kid, and they're going to start questioning you for parole." Crowley mumbles under his breath, trying to right his wrongs through prayer. He had always been hypocritical; acted on instinct; turning to short lived penitence after the rush faded. I hated to be the one to tell him, but God wasn't going to help.

Never has.

Never will.

"Quit it with the catholic bullshit, would ya. We both know you're only sorry until you're behind closed doors. You liked it, just admit it. You liked watching me touch her. You liked watching my tongue slip in and out of her wet pussy; the sloppy sounds it made. And let me tell ya, Crowley; it was sweet. Man up, and maybe next time I'll let you taste it." Glancing behind me, I smirk, earning a rough push.

"Face forward, Cullen. And, keep in line before I decide to put an end to this arrangement. I don't need to see you balls deep in the pretty new nurse to get off. You got me?" Crowley hisses in vain, and I chuckle, shaking my head.

"Yeah, I got you." I find contentment in the crease of his brow as he releases my cuffs. Pushing me into my cell, he slams it shut. I reach through the bars, giving his uniform a quick tug.

"Just for kicks, say I let you stick your tongue in there." He starts to walk away, but I grab hold of his arm.

"No, wait. Just hear me out." He gives me a warning tap with his baton, and I let go, holding my hands up in mock surrender.

"So you've got your tongue inside her, right?" Scanning from side to side, he steps closer, and I try not to laugh. He's too easy, always has been.

"You wiggle it around, making her squirm, and you know she's close cause you can feel her tighten; hear it in her moans." He nods, dumbly; his tongue lying slack against his bottom lip.

"Now, do you finish her off? Or, do you pull it out, and plunge it in?" I question, seeing the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, and I know I have him right where I want him.

"It's a tough call, right? But, me.." Wiping my nose, I step closer to the bars. "I like to feel the gush around my cock; watch it squirt out as I'm fucking her. How about you? What do you like?" I watch as his brows furrow, really thinking about it. Sticking my arm through the lower bars, I give his dick a quick pat, and it's rock hard like I knew it would be.

_Horny hypocritical motherfucker._

"That's what I thought." I back away as he slams his baton into the steel bars, his face all red, and I give him a knowing look.

He knows better than to threaten me; to threaten my only happiness; my only escape from this hell I'm in.

He knows.

"You're such a little shit, Cullen. Always have been, always will be. You know, that's why you ended up in here. You were always fucking up as a kid; doing what you want, who you want." He shakes his head in disgust. "And, poor Esme. Your poor sick mother. Jess said you won't take her calls; you won't answer her letters. She's back in the hospital. Did you know that? Do you even fucking care?" I clench my fists at my sides, biting my tongue. "Yeah, I figured as much. You know, you fucking belong in here." Waving me off, he heads for the exit.

"Yeah, see ya Monday, _Saint_ Crowley. Be sure to wash away the sinful sweat off your righteous balls. You don't want that wife of yours finding out how much of a sick fuck you really are." He stops. Hunching his shoulders, he fights the urge to look back, and I almost feel bad. But, then I remember he's the one who started this; who dug up our long, buried past; used my mother to try and get a rise out of me. "Say hey to Jess for me, would ya? I'd write, but I know how she feels about my dick." So, I hit him where it hurts.

Because fuck him.

Taking a seat, I lean back, closing my eyes with the loud clank of the locks. I try not to think. I don't want to remember the lies, the betrayal, the deceit; the numb comfort that could always make me forget. But being locked up in a six by eight, cement block makes it next to impossible, and my mind fills; floods with weakness, misplaced blame, and regret.

I don't want to want it. I don't want to crave relief in false complacency. I want to be clear; to feel, to see, hear, smell, taste. But, it's always there; the need, the urge, the itch.

_Fuck!_

"Yo, Cullen!" A loud crack makes me jump.

"You fucking deaf? You have a phone call. You gonna take it or what?" I don't bother opening my eyes. I don't know why be bothers asking.

"Or what."

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Bella**_

Sweat drips from my neck, down my back, and I wipe it from my hairline. My stomach cramps with shame; guilt. I never meant for it to go this far, and now that it has, I don't recognize myself. I don't know who I am. I used to be smart, sensible. I used to care what harm my actions might cause, who they may hurt. I was never one to act on desire, and this is why. There are too many consequences.

Holding my stomach, I dig through my bag; trying desperately to find my cell phone in this sea of stuff; reminding myself that I hate not being able to find anything, and really need to start carrying a smaller purse.

"Excuse me, Nurse Swan?" Halting all movement, I try to steady my breath. I'm not ready; not ready for the fall out; not ready for this. Glancing over my shoulder, I give him a tight smile.

"Officer Crowley? How can I help you?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

A tinkling bell chimes, as I open the door to the clinic. All heads turn toward me as I clickity-clack across the floor; feeling self conscious, overdressed, and out of place. I try not to make eye contact as I noisily approach the front desk, smiling tightly at the woman behind the counter.

"Do you have an appointment?" She smacks her gum, blowing a small bubble, and I glance at her name tag.

_Jessica. _

Internally rolling my eyes, I clear my throat.

"Uh, no." Handing me a clipboard, she blows another bubble, popping it loudly.

"Have a seat, and fill these out. It could be awhile." She mumbles, and I turn away. Scanning the crowded room for an empty chair, I eventually find one, and pick up the only magazine not spoken for; a nineteen ninety-six issue of Highlights. Flipping to the hidden pictures puzzle, I find that all the objects have been circled in hot pink crayon, and I sigh; throwing it back down. I lean back, resting my head against the wall, and take a look around.

My eyes go straight to where the dated wood wallpaper hangs loose; peeling, and curling with age. The chipped plastic chairs alternate from brown to yellow; their metal bases turning red with rust. This place is decrepit; falling apart. I wonder how it's still running. The smell of antiseptic and mothballs fills the air. It's sickening, really; the smell and the fact that I'm sitting here. I don't belong here; surrounded by sweatpants, sad faces, and shattered dreams. The small children are half dressed, wailing on the dirty, yellow, linoleum floor, and I try not to outwardly cringe.

"Bella Swan."

I hear my name across the sea of people, and my heart kick starts with a jump.

"Bella Swan?"

Slowly rising to my feet, I make my way across the room. The tap, tap, tapping of my heels competes with the thump, thump, thumping of my heart. And, I can hardly hear her when she speaks.

"Hi there, I'm Angela. What's your birth date, Hun?" Swallowing, I clear the muffled buzzing from my ears.

"Uh, September thirteenth, nineteen eighty-seven." She nods, and then jerks her head towards the back.

"Okay, this way." Closely following her down the hallway, I distract myself with the many posters hanging on the walls.

_Are you in trouble?_

_Do you need help?_

_Feelin' the burn?_

_What?_

"Yeah, we get a lot of double takes with that one." Laughing, she holds open the door, and gestures for me to go in.

"Have a seat, Hun. I'm just going to ask you some questions, and take your blood pressure." Removing my jacket, I roll up one of my sleeves. We sit in an uncomfortable silence while she pumps up the cuff. I look away as the cold polyester squeezes, and then slowly deflates, leaving a tingle in my upper arm. I'm surprised when she tells me the reading is normal.

"You're here for S.T.D. testing, correct?" I nod.

"Have you recently, or have you ever, had sexual intercourse without a condom?" I close my eyes, remembering what it felt like to have him inside me. I can still feel him.

"Yes." I nearly whimper.

"Are you currently having unprotected sex with multiple partners?" I take a shaky breath.

"Yes."

"How many partners have you had in total?" I bite the inside of my cheek; not knowing whether to be proud or embarrassed.

"Two." I can see her trying to not react, and it leaves a deep-seated burn in my cheeks.

_Embarrassed it is._

"Do you have suspicion, or are you aware of any diseases your partners may have?" Rubbing my forehead, I think about all the things Crowley told me. I have solid reasoning for concern, ranging from multiple, sexual indiscretions to excessive drug use. And, even though I may have feelings for Edward, I don't know him; not really.

But, I still want to.

"There's a definite possibility that one of them could have something I don't know about." A simple yes would have sufficed, but I felt a need to protect his image in my own eyes. What we did may seem twisted and wrong, but there is a reason it happened.

It felt right; still feels right.

"Do you have any history of sexually transmitted diseases that you are aware of?" I shake my head.

"No." It's almost defensive.

"Are you using any form of birth control?" Sitting up straighter, I nod. It was the one thing I had done right, and I was going to own that shit.

"Yes. I get the shot." She smiles in approval, rising from her seat. She reaches for a little wrapped plastic cup, and hands it to me.

"Okay, take this. I need a urine sample. The bathroom is down the hall to the left, first door on your right. You can't miss it. When you're done, leave the cup in the metal container, and then come back here. I have to take a blood sample as well." Barely containing a groan, I stand from my seat, and turn the corner out of her office.

Tripping over loose carpeting, I knock down one of the framed posters, and pick it up. Looking it over, I can't help but wonder how much one gets paid to pose for these?

_Vince has V.D._

He's also cute; well-groomed, and I never would have guessed. I wonder if he gets recognized; if he brags about this to his friends; his family; are they proud?

Shrugging, I hang it back on the bent nail, and it falls down again. Grumbling, I make sure no one is watching as I lean it against the wall.

When I make it to the bathroom, I take my time. Peeing in a cup has never gone over well. I always missed on the first try, and attempting to adjust it, I would get it all over my hand. It was usually a nightmare, but this time it is was smooth sailing, and I think maybe it's a sign that everything is going to be okay.

Flushing, I notice a line of toilet paper sticking to the bottom of my shoe, and kick it off on instinct; accidentally spilling half of my still warm piss down the front of my skirt. "Shit!" I squeak out, placing the cup in the metal box. Wetting a paper towel, I try my best to wash it out, but the damage is done. And with a large wet spot, I briskly walk back to Angela's office; chalking it up to a bad day, not a bad omen.

Ten minutes later, I'm bandaged and wobbling out to my car on weak knees. I sit idle for awhile, thinking about nothing, everything, Edward, his tattoo; where and when he got it.

I want to see it again, I want to touch it; really study it. I want to ask him the meaning behind it. Why a web, why a spider? I wonder if he would even tell me if I asked.

My phone chirps, and I notice it's a little past six. Without answering, I put the car in gear, and head home.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Bella, Babe! Is that you?" I have to roll my eyes. _Who the hell else would it be?_

"Are you expecting somebody else?" I cringe at the tone of my voice.

So is the accusing attitude of a cheater.

"Of course not, Babe. I missed you, how was your day?" He rounds the corner, and takes me into his arms, placing soft kisses on my neck.

Remembering the mark Edward left, I push him away, acting as if it tickles.

"It was fine. How was yours?" Beaming, he pecks my lips, and I want to wipe it off.

"It was great! My boss invited us to dinner. I think he's considering promoting me to partner. You've got thirty minutes until we have to go." He slaps my ass, and then turns to walk away. "Did you take the beamer to work today? Your hair's looking a little wild. I kinda like it." My hand automatically goes to the back of my head, and I feel the small tangles.

_Shit! _

Following behind him, I attempt to comb them out with my fingers. "I laid out that blue dress, the one you look really hot in. I know Aro will love it. My boss is gonna love you, Babe. And with you on my arm, I've got this in the bag. You make me look good." He gives me the sleaziest compliment, turning to wink over his shoulder, and I give him a tight smile.

"Just think, Bella, if I get this, we could be moved out of this cardboard box and in one of those high-rises overlooking Seattle. Or, we could get a big house in the 'Burbs, and you can start pushing out all those kids you're going to give me." My mouth drops, but he doesn't notice. He's stuck in his own little world; talking about everything from nightlife to the best schools.

We've never talked about moving, never talked about kids. Where was all of this coming from?

"What's that?" He points to the wrapped bandage from where I had my blood drawn.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

I have cheating sex with an inmate, spill piss on myself, can't even take the time to fix my sex hair,_ and_ forget to remove the bandaged evidence of my betrayal?

I am terrible at this, and really needed to come clean, but I don't want to upset him before the big dinner with his boss. It's the least I can do.

"Blood drive." Turning away from him, I find it easier to lie.

"They were having a blood drive at the prison, and I stopped by to donate after work. That's why I was late."

I have the whole weekend to end it.

I'll do it tomorrow.

Maybe Sunday.

Just not tonight.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Saturday morning, I'm hunched over the kitchen table nursing a steaming cup of French roast. Dinner was next to unbearable, and I had really thrown them back.

I quiver with images of him squeezing my inner thigh under the table; resting his hand on my upper ass cheek during our after dinner drinks.

No, not Mike.

Mike's boss.

He's mousy; has a pointy nose, and dead blue eyes. His slicked back, black head of hair is always in a low hanging ponytail, and his hands are much, much friendlier than his personality.

At one point, he leaned close to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. His net worth; how he has a house in Aspen that Mike and I should come and see.

I never hated the sound of my own name more than when it rolled off of his liquor-loosened tongue.

"_Don't let that intimidate you, Isabella. I am a very well-off-man, but I like to share. Do you, Isabella? Do you like to share?"_

His high-pitched Italian accent was laughable. His thick musk made me sick, and I'm fairly certain I gagged when he took it upon himself to kiss my bare shoulder. All the while his pretty, blonde, child-bride looked on; dollar signs in her eyes.

"Morning, Babe." Mike greets me bright eyed, and chipper; oblivious to the fact that his boss did everything short of dry humping my leg last night.

I grunt, looking up from one of my many fashion magazines. I really needed to stop wasting money on them. They're mostly filled with advertisements of things I can't afford.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I blurt out, seeing his white polo, and matching white shorts. A pair of clear goggles is hanging around his neck.

"Aro invited me for a game of racquetball with some colleagues. I want to fit in." He shrugs, and I don't say anything; I just sit there.

I watch him as he pulls out his food scale and a bowl, reaching for his Bran while it zeroes. He fills it with two cups, scooping out a handful, then puts half of the handful back in. He picks at it with his fingers. And, this goes on and on until he's measured the perfect amount.

Resting my chin on my hand, I wonder if I ever realized how much of a goon he really is before this moment. Somewhere along the line, he had to have changed; turned into everything I was against; big money, big names, big promotions, racquetball.

Since when did he feel the need to fit in; to play the part? Had he always measured his food? When did he start wearing his hair flat, and greased back? How long had he been calling me Babe, bossing me around, and slapping me on the ass? Had he just recently flashed back to the nineteen eighties?

"Are we still meeting your parents for brunch tomorrow? Have they said anything?" I give him a weird look.

"Said anything about what?" He shrugs again.

"Uh, I don't know; nothing. Listen, I should be home by four. I'm taking you somewhere special tonight, so be ready by five. And, wear your hair up." My stomach drops, as he leaves a loud kiss on my cheek, and briskly walks out the front door.

I reach for my neck.

Edward's teeth marks are still embedded in my skin; no doubt purple with a setting bruise. There is no way I'm wearing my hair up.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Edward**_

"Cullen! Get your ass up! You've got mail!" Face down, I don't move from my spot. I don't know why he insists on announcing that shit. He knows I'm not going to get up to grab it. He knows he always ends up throwing it on the ground. Why waste the fucking energy?

"You're going to want to read this." As soon as I hear it hit the floor, I know what it is. Parole packets make a distinct sound when hitting hard cement. They resonate with intimidation; demanding your attention.

Turning my head, I stare at the thick manila envelope. I had an answer for every question; a good one too; the truth. But, I have never felt as unsure as I do now.

Good things don't happen to me; they just don't, and I had made my peace with that. I was okay with living in the halfway house, working nine to five at a dead end job. Just being out was a respectable achievement. But, that was before; before her; the only good thing that has ever happened to me.

Now, it doesn't seem good enough. I don't have enough; nothing to offer except surprise inspections, insecurities, and day to day struggle.

Rolling over, I lie on my back, rubbing my hands roughly over my face.

It could be so easy; she could make it easy by just smiling. She's the answer to everything; reform, redemption, reconciliation. I know my mother would love her, but I don't want to use her to make amends. She's better than that; better than me.

And maybe if things were different; if I were different, we could've had something; but they're not, _I'm _not, so we won't.

Sitting up, the cot whines in objection as I throw my legs over the edge, setting my feet on the ground.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Bella**_

I squirm in my chair, feeling the collection of moisture between my legs. His mark pulsates with every beat of my heart; leaving me warm, and wanting; making it hard to breathe.

I think about the first time I let him kiss me. How he had begged.

_Running his nose along my jaw, his pleads are hot against my neck. _

"_Please, Bella." _

I liked it; the time; the attention he showed me.

I loved it.

I constantly wondered how it would feel. Soft and loving? Hard and wanting?

I wanted to feel it; the pressure.

God help me, I wanted to feel it.

Getting up from the chair, I make my way to the bedroom. Still holding my neck, I dig through the back of the closet, searching for that Gucci shoe box, the special one; the one where I keep my special toy. Spotting it, I quickly pull it out. Tossing it onto the bed, I crawl in beside it, and I lie down on my back. I stare at the shiny, tan cardboard; reading, and then re-reading the gold lettering. Licking my lips, I pull it closer; almost embarrassed to open it.

Lifting the lid, I reach inside. Holding it up, I look it over. It's boring; the whitest white; straight up and down; it has no shape. Pressing the button, I feel the vibrations run up my arm, and I lower it to my breast; I giggle, slowly running it over my stomach, down, down, down until I'm not giggling anymore.

I tease the top of my cotton covered center; up and down, up and down; until I'm flushed, sweating, on the verge of coming, and I pull it away. Without turning it off, I push my panties down. Hovering the cold, heavy plastic over my spread legs, I taunt, lifting my hips to meet the rewarding vibration. Closing my eyes, I imagine he's here; that he's the one teasing, taunting, and a quiet cry escapes me. Bending my wrist, I slide the rounded end to my entrance; barely inserting the tip. I rock back and forth, pushing; feeling the blunt weight fill me with every shaky thrust.

I wander how he touches himself; where he touches himself. In his cot, while his cellmate listens? Does he do it often? Is he doing it now? Does he think of me when he comes?

"Oh, God."

I imagine him lying in bed, humming; running his thumb over the leaking head; making it slick; slippery enough to stroke to my rhythm. My toes tingle, my stomach burns.

"Ungh!"

Fisting the sheets, my legs fall open. Digging my heels into the firm mattress, my back arches, and I feel myself contract. Jerking, I silently ride it out; the multiple waves. Then it's too much. Quickly pulling it out, I turn it off. I lie breathless, sprawled out on top of a wet puddle, and I smile.

_._

_._

_._

_**Edward**_

Standing in the open shower, I shamelessly fuck my hand. It's next to impossible to get a bottle of lube, and the soap is slippery. I was tired of using my own spit.

Closing my eyes, she's on her knees; sucking my cock. She fucking wants it, needs it. Her big brown eyes beg me for it.

"Fuck, Bella."

Pumping up and down the slick shaft, I let the water run over the tip. It's warm and wet just like her pretty, pink tongue. Fuck if she doesn't have the prettiest mouth.

"I could help you out with that, if ya want." My eyes snap open. The kid they call Byers is watching me steadily fist my dick.

I heard about this kid. He's new, popular. Now I know why.

"This." Pointing down, my strokes never falter. "Belongs in one mouth, and one mouth only." My dick twitches, as if it knows who I'm talking about. "And, it's not yours."

"Who said anything about my mouth?" Smirking, he licks his lips.

_Persistent little fuck._

No way am I closing my eyes now; no way am I turning around. Feeling a cold tingling in my toes, there's no way I'm fucking stopping.

I try not to look at him as I work my cock. I focus on the sloppy slapping of wet skin, sliding from base to tip. I think about Bella; being balls deep inside of her. How she squirmed underneath me, spreading come down her creamy thighs.

"Fuck."

I drop my dick, so incredibly pissed that this little shit had to walk in and ruin my one fucking moment. Quickly rinsing off, I grab a towel; steering clear of him as I rush by.

He's just fucking lucky I'm trying to get the fuck out of here.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Bella**_

"You look beautiful, Baby. I love this dress. What is this slinky material? Rayon? Lycra?" I give my mother a sympathetic smile.

"No, Mom. It's just cotton." She looks surprised. Giggling, she pulls me in for a hug, and I can finally roll my eyes. It feels good.

"Good to see you, Michael, how's the job coming along? You should be promoted to partner by now, I would think. What's the hold up?" My father's joke is a means of prying, and I hold on to my mother a little longer than necessary; finding myself in need of one more, hard eye roll.

"Actually, I was told I got the promotion yesterday, so, I'm looking at being named partner sometime early next month." There's a rowdy round of congratulations as my mother pulls away, dashing around me to get to Mike. I stand back, watching in unimpressed wonder as she rests her head on his shoulder, giving him a sideways hug; my father firmly pats him on the back.

"Well, that's cause for celebration, gives us an excuse to drink before noon." My mother bounces, lightly clapping her hands, and we all take a seat; placing our orders. Mike rests his hand on my knee, and I glance over at him; he doesn't touch me in public all that often.

"I was going to tell you." Leaning in, he kisses my shoulder, and I wonder what's gotten into him. He's neverkissed me in front of my parents before.

"So Michael, tell us, how does it feel to be running with the big dogs?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

An hour later, my father and Micheal are still working on their medium-rare steaks; shooting the shit. My mother, being thoroughly wasted, nods on with every spoken word. And I'm right behind her; on my third Mimosa, having checked out sometime after my Dad used the term 'big dogs'.

"Bella?" Feeling Mike's hand on my knee again, pulls me out of the haze.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are you ready to go?" I nod. Standing up too quickly, I stumble, but he catches me by the elbow; he wraps his arm around my waist, and I giggle. _What has gotten into him?_

His hand remains glued to my lower back as I kiss my inebriated mother, hug my schmoozing father, and we walk out awkwardly with his arm still around me. Our bodies never really having been in sync, we bump with every offbeat step. I consider shaking him off; blame it on the booze, but I don't. I suffer through it until he's helped me into the car. Then I take a cleansing breath while he jogs around to the other side.

The ride home is quiet, too quiet, and I know something is up because Gangman Style faintly starts to pump through the speakers, and he makes no attempt to turn the volume up.

"You okay?" I question, lightly running my fingers over the back of his neck. I don't know why I do this.

"Yeah, that feels good, Babe." He hums, and I pull away, looking out the window as we pass a familiar street sign.

"Why are you going _this_ way?" I can't control the contempt in my voice.

"It's scenic?" He shrugs.

"You consider the barb-wired, cement walls of the prison scenic?" I ask, looking back out the window; hoping, praying for even the slightest glimpse of him. But it's Sunday, and I don't know what he does on Sundays; I never asked.

"No. But, you can see the water from the other side of the street. The leaves are changing, and I just thought it would be nice." I nod, never taking my eyes off the prison grounds; scanning, searching, seeking, and then I see him.

His back is turned to me, but I know it's him. Copper colored hair shines through rasping fingers. Sinewy muscles flex as they move, giving life to the black, tatted web that hangs from his left shoulder. He's wearing one of those white, wife beaters, his grey sweats hang loose on his narrow hips, and I want more than anything to be touching him; kissing his animated ink, while holding him from behind.

We pass too quickly, and I refuse to turn my head; my periphery strains to keep him in my sight, and then he's gone.

I'm distracted, antsy, the rest of the ride home. I couldn't stop thinking about him before, now all I can think about is how good he looks on Sundays. About how good he would look waking up beside me. And I can see him carelessly pouring a bowl of cereal because no way would he give a shit about how much it weighed. I can see him lounging on the couch, pulling at his sleepy mess of hair.

Walking through the front door, I feel like crying, whining, stomping my feet; knowing he's not going to be here. But, then I see them.

The floor, the furniture, every flat surface is cloaked, covered in an array yellow rose pedals. And, I know. I just know. This is it. Mike is going to ask me to marry him.

And all I can think, is why in the hell would he pick yellow roses.

"You wanted romance, so I'm giving it to you. What do you say?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

The heavy tapping of my heels echo through the long concrete corridor, scuffling every so often with the slip of a step. I thought seriously about calling off today, and then the rest of the week. But, I knew I couldn't take not seeing him; not another day.

Hearing an approaching set of muffled soles, I lift my head, smiling softly. "Good morning, Harry. Or, should I say goodnight?" He nods in greeting.

"No maddah how yous see it, Miss Bella. Is'good. Is'good." I can't help the giggle that bubbles up and out. His thick Cajun accent gets me every time.

"Well, as long as it's good, that's all that matters." Winking, he taps the edge of his flat cap; never losing stride as he walks towards the door, and my ears flood once more with the clickity-clack of heels and toes.

In the exam room, I remove the constricting, black, dress jacket. Pulling out the growing pile of files, I get to work, trying not to think about what I'm going to do; what I'm going to say to him.

I work at a snail's pace; checking charts for any changed orders, going over the patients' medication administration records, separating the medications into labeled cups, arranging and then rearranging the labeled cups on the trays. Always tedious, and particular, only today I welcomed the mind-numbing distraction. I'm still not ready when it's time.

Picking up the tray, I walk to the door. Taking a deep breath, I slowly blow it out. Mondays are always the worst.

"Well, if it ain't a sight for sore, Goddamn, eyes!" And it begins.

Making my way down the hall, I haphazardly pass the medications. The closer I get, the more my stomach flutters, and I've started to sweat in all the most inconvenient places; my forehead, armpits, the crack of my ass.

I think about my reaction and what it should be. Should I smile? Say hi? Act indifferent, like he's never put his dick inside of me? My gut pleasantly pulsates. I focus on my breathing- in, out, in, out- as I step in front of his cell. But, it's all for nothing. He's not there.

**.**

**.**

**.**

A day turns into a week; turns into two, and still there's no sign of him. He hasn't been running, never sits at his table. Crowley never comes around the exam room, and I can't hunt him down. I'm completely cut off; out of control, and it's infuriating.

I find myself tightly wound; my movements forceful. I slam doors, snap at not only loved ones, but complete strangers. There's a constant ache in the back of my neck, and the underside of my jaw. At the drop of a hat I cry, and over the stupidest shit.

I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel like _doing_ something crazy.

Standing outside the visitors' entrance, it looks different. Not particularly inviting, just different. As I wait in line, the wind wisps in from the nearby ocean, blowing crispy leaves around my exposed ankles, and I wrap my old camel colored, tweed jacket around my thinning frame. Not seeing him hadn't only taken its toll on my sanity, but my waistline, too. I haven't been able to button this coat in years.

"Visitors, welcome to Clallam Bay. My name is Officer Myers, and I will be escorting you today. When you first check in, you will hand over your jackets; any and all lose articles are to be stored in a secure area. All packages that have been preapproved will be surrendered for inspection, and delivered to their respectable party at a later time. There are no exceptions. You will remain in this line, single file until ordered otherwise. Please have your I.D.'s out and ready, and follow me." The silence that fell over the crowd remains as we follow Officer Myers.

Gripping my I.D. in my hand, I keep my head down until I reach the first checkpoint. I place it between my lips before shaking out of my jacket, and hanging it up. Wiping the plastic on the front of my skirt, I walk through the metal detector. I lift my arms, and spread my legs for the pat down. Moving to the next checkpoint, I hand over my I.D.

"Who are you here to see, Miss Swan?" Swallowing, I lick my lips.

"Edward Cullen." The burley office woman gives me the once over before scribbling on her notepad. She hands me a yellow visitor sticker.

"Place this on the left side of your chest. Next!" And, I'm quickly dismissed.

Walking into the visiting section, the first thing I notice are the bars. They're a stark contrast to all the white; white tile floors, white plastic tables, with attached, matching white seats. The only color comes from the small play area, and my heart falls for the children who are playing there.

The murmurs quiet, the further away I get from the crowd. I sit at the farthest table, trying to control my breathing. I wait patiently as the men begin to file out.

I watch as they ruffle their children's hair, tightly embrace their women, kiss them on the mouth, the cheek; they're stopped by a dressed officer once they reach the neck, and I smile at their blind eagerness.

My smile falls when I see him, knowing this won't be us; can't be us. I want it so badly to be us.

"What are you doing here?" He's angry, in front of me; smelling of cigarettes, and soap, and outside, and I want to touch him.

"I- I needed to see you. Why haven't I seen you? Where have you been?" I sound so small, and pathetic.

"Around." Raking his fingers through the mess of hair on his head, he runs his eyes over me before shutting them. He sits, and I follow suit; my heart heavy in my chest.

"I- I've missed you. I miss you." My voice rattles. Reaching for his hand, I pull back. His eyes still closed, he doesn't say anything.

"I thought that we.." I stop when his eyes snap open. The bottle green cuts as if it were real glass.

"You thought wrong." Standing, he hovers over the table, over me. He takes one last, lingering look before shaking his head, and backing away; leaving me with no answers.

"Go home, pretty girl; home to that boyfriend of yours."

**.**

**.**

**.**

The tap-tap-tapping of my heels is fast and hard; so hard that one breaks.

"Fuck!" I yell out my new favorite word, not caring how far the vulgar echo travels. I stomp-stomp-stomp on the other. "Mother-fucking-fuck!" But, it won't budge.

"Rough day, Miss Bella?" Spinning, I almost lose my balance, but Harry catches my arm.

"Yous need some help d'ere? I got'a saw in storage." I nod, and he smiles, taking off in the direction of the closet. It doesn't take him long to return, and swiftly saw off the heel to my only pair of Manolos. I'm surprised I don't cry.

"Thanks, Harry. Sorry about the language." He lifts his cap.

"No problem, Miss Bella. Yous too pretty to be sayin' dose words anyway."Winking, he turns and I make my way to the exam room on my new flats, heels in hand; freshly pissed from being called _pretty_. I fucking hate that word; along with every other word that's sprouted from Edward Cullen's _pretty _mouth.

I work quickly today; checking charts for any changed orders, going over the patients' medication administration records, separating the medications into labeled cups, arranging the labeled cups on the trays. I'm more than ready when the thick, metal door opens.

I pass the medication; making idle chit-chat with a wide smile; ignoring the discomfort in my stomach. And when I reach his cell, I'm met with wide green eyes.

I stare back before dropping my gaze, and scratching my forehead; making sure to use my left hand. I don't look up before heading back into the exam room.

Once inside, I wait; I pace. I wring my hands, but the solid, cold metal is uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and I stop. Hearing a knock at the door, I hold my breath as it opens.

"Nurse Swan. I-5932 to see you."

* * *

What's that? Do I hear requests for a Part III? Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented **SUNFLOWERFran3759! (- Love her, she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.**

* * *

******Wow, the response to this was/is amazing, and completely overwhelming. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! I read and loved each and every one! **

* * *

**_Bella_**

"Bella Sweetie, do you have a preference on veil length? - Chin, elbow, shoulder? I think floor length would be a bit much, don't you? Or, maybe we should just go for it- ROLO, right?" My mother rambles, completely clueless, while I stare at my sullen reflection in the three-way floor mirror. Head to toe in eyelet and lace, Renee had insisted it be white- knowing full well, that my virtue was the farthest thing from pure. At this rate I should be wrapped up in black.

"Can I interest you ladies in some champagne?" The sweet attendant asks, showing her sparkly, white teeth, and Renee pounces- grabbing the two flutes, and the bottle. Completely incorrigible, my mother.

"Thank you, that will be all." She dismisses with a flick of her skinny wrist- the clink of her gold bangles echoing through the open space. And I give the lady an apologetic smile before she so smartly turns to leave.

"Just think Baby, as soon as you say _I do, _you can quit that heinous job of yours at the prison." Tipping her glass, the bubbly goes down the hatch, and she quickly fills another- all the way to the top. "I still don't understand why you took it. What exactly were you trying to prove?"

Sighing, I ignore her question with no doubt that it was rhetorical. Most of them were. And even if it wasn't, she wouldn't understand anyway- never working a day in her privileged life. My father was always the one with the head on his shoulders. Growing up poor, he followed in his father's footsteps right into the academy- becoming the youngest Chief of Police in Forks' history. He urged me to go to school and build a career- to be able to take care of myself. And if he taught me anything, it was self-worth, and pride, but that was before my frugal Grandpa died, leaving Charlie with a nice chunk of his own change. And with that new-found financial freedom came a whole new, entitled attitude. It just goes to show that money gets the best of us, even the very best of us.

"Don't you want to stay home, like me?"

_And what, be drunk all day?_

_No, thank you._

"We could go shopping, have late lunches, just the two of us, like old times." Combing the ends of my hair with her fingers, she looks longingly into the mirror; a slight smile on her blood-red lips. And I remember all those dates we had when I was just a girl. Getting our hair washed, and our nails done, her goofy giggles were always the best part. And I find myself missing the days when I had no clue what was lining the inside of her bottomless glass. Then she had to go and ruin it. "Mike's an amazing man, Baby. You did real well."

Gumming my lips, I nod, looking down at the waves of white ruffles, feeling ashamed. Marrying a man out of spite wasn't something I aspired to do, it's just something that happened, is happening, will happen. I don't know, maybe.

I mean, it wouldn't be that bad- _would it?_ Marrying a guy that I know wants me. I mean really wants me- me- not just to fuck, and toss aside when his parole pulls through. But for who I am, and what I stand for- whoever and whatever that may be.

_Why didn't Edward want me?_

I tossed and turned for days over it, over the last time a saw him, over all the selfish things he said. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get him out of my head.

_"Nurse Swan. I-5932 to see you."_

_Heart pounding, knees shaking, I watched as he entered. Shackled and disheveled, he shuffled over to the table, with his hidden, green eyes glued to the ground. I fought the urge to run to him, but knowing he wasn't mine, and that I couldn't freely touch him; it hurt._

_"I'm sick." He said, lifting his head, but not really looking. _

_Walking closer, I stood just in front of him, noticing the wilt of his copper-colored hair, and how much it had grown. I wanted to touch it- smell it. I wanted to kiss him all better, but doubted he would let me; doubted he wanted me to._

_"What's wrong?" Lifting a hand, I put it back down, wanting to touch him, not knowing if I should touch him. Did he want me to? Probably not._

_"Do you love 'em?" His question caught me off guard, but I still shook my head._

_"No. I-"_

_"You what, love me?" Throwing his head back, he heartily laughed. "You don't love me, Bella. We fucked- that's it. You like the way I fuck." Shrugging, he leaned back, smiling that wily smile. "What's his name, Bella?" _

_Licking my lips, I played with the cold metal that was burning the skin of my finger. Not wanting to say it, but I did. "Mike."_

_Sitting up, Edward grabbed my hand, and placed it on his thigh. And after all he'd said, after all the hurt that had spewed from his mouth, I still wanted to touch him, still wanted to feel him- his warmth. So, I squeezed, earning a low grunt._

_"Do you think of me while Mike's between those creamy legs? Can he make you come, or is that just me?"_

_"Just you." _

_His eyes snapped up to catch mine, holding them as he continued to speak, continued to dig my shameful grave. He was killing me._

_"And what if I couldn't, what then? Would you want me then?" Toying with the ring, he turned it round and round. "I couldn't afford to give you one of these, ya know. If I worked every day for the rest of my blue-collared life, I would never be able to give you one of these; never." Looking over at Crowley, he sighed. "Ask Crowley here, if a girl was unlucky enough to end up with me she'd get a plastic, piece of shit outta one of those twenty-five cent machines they have lined up outside the discount store over on Remora, right Crowley? Remember, you put the quarter in, and if you were lucky you got the ring. It was bendable, a real piece of shit, right? Am I right, Crowley? Say I'm right." Sniffing, he huffed when Crowley conceded. "You want that, Bella?" Head lulling, he looked down at me. "You want a one-size-fits-all, piece of shit ring around your pretty, little finger? - Cause I don't think you do!" Lightly pushing, he jumped down, tearing the protective paper with a crinkling rip. And he was halfway out the door before I even got a chance. A chance to tell that maybe I did want that, maybe I didn't care about money, and diamonds, and whether or not he could give them to me. I didn't need them, not if I had him._

_"Forget about me, little girl, cause I'm sure as hell gonna forget about you."_

With a tug on the end of my hair, I'm brought back to stare at the silly, little girl in the mirror. The one dressed in white; the one that's trying to fool herself while playing house.

_Little girl. _

He was right.

"Bella Sweetie, did you hear me?" Downing another flute full, Renee holds up two veils, tossing them aside when she thinks of something better. "Ooh, we could always do a tiara. What do you think about that, Baby? Would you want a tiara?" Grabbing the shimmering cluster of crystals, she places one on my head, stepping back to take it all in, completely oblivious to the sadness that radiates from my very, frilly being. "What do you think, Baby?"

Shrugging, I try to smile. "Whatever you think, Mom, whatever you think."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Edward_**

"I-5932, Edward Anthony Cullen please rise, and approach the board." The balding, fat fuck orders as if he doesn't remember me. But he does. I'm sure he remembers every poor fucker he's ever denied his well-earned freedom, just as easily as he remembers what he had for lunch yesterday, and probably every day before that. What an asshole he is, with his black, beady eyes, and his twisted, sideways smile. I try not to cringe as he pulls the drenched rag from his pocket, and rubs it all over his sweaty face. It wasn't even hot in here. Such a fat fuck.

"Please, tell us why you are in prison." Right off the bat, they go for the balls; squeezing so I'll buckle. It's almost as if they want you to fail, just so they can stomp that denying, red stamp, and throw you back behind those iron bars.

"The illegal distribution of a Schedule II controlled substance, Sir, specifically Oxycodone." Shackled hands clasped, I give it right back, having polished up on my shit since the last time we spoke.

"And do you feel remorse?"

That's the kicker.

What I feel remorse for is getting caught, and I know this about myself. I know that I'm a piece of shit, much like that ring I so effectively threatened Bella with. I scam, and I defile. I ruin kid's lives so my mom can live. So no, I don't feel remorse, none whatsoever. Not over this.

"I know that what I did was wrong. I know that I not only hurt myself, but others, and for that I am truly sorry." I pull it off, thinking about the girl I left standing there, her brown eyes full of unshed tears. It took everything I had to choke out those blasphemous, parting words. To tell her I'd forget about her, when I could never forget about her.

Never.

"Where do you plan to live?"

"Holsier. It's a half-way house on the South side of town."

"Do you have a job waiting for you when you get out?"

"Yes Sir, I'll be working at my Uncle Mark's garage, by the same name, minus the Uncle part." Slightly losing it, I sound like stupid, fucking Crowley. But I think I bring it back. "I'll be working under the hood; tune-ups, oil changes, you name it."

"What about a discount?" The quiet, old guy on the end cracks a joke and with a smirk, I throw caution to the non-existent wind. Go big, or go home, right?

Whatever.

"Every day's a discount day down at Mark's Garage. Prices so cheap.. it's a steal." Shooting the old man a wink, I forgo the finger gun, thinking it might be a bit much. All I need is to be brought up on illegal possession of a firearm. And I wouldn't put it past fatty there.

"Okay Mr. Cullen, I think we've heard enough." Shooing me, he turns to the old kook, trying to hide his own smile. _"Come on, Carl."_ I hear him chuckle, before the punch of a stamp, and slam of the heavy, steel door.

"How'd it go? You think you got it? Please tell me you think you got it. Jess' been driving me fuckin' nuts, wantin' to set you up with her sleazy friend, and I'm needin' you to tell her to fuck off yourself, cause no way I'm doin' it, no way. I like my balls, and I like 'em attached to my body." Crowley fucking rambles, whispering the last of his spastic spiel as we pass the seemingly empty cells. Dude needed to calm the fuck down.

"Jesus Crowley, take a Goddamn breath, would ya? I'm not tellin'er shit 'cause I'm not planning on even seein'er. You and me can hang, but leave her at home with the baby. The whole thing is just too fucked for my taste." Following me into my cell, he sits down on the opposite bunk. He always had been a weak, little follower; following me around the playground, following me all the way home, following me to all the _cool kids_ parties, and then straight into Jessica Stanley's pants; now Jessica Crowley.

"What about church? You're gonna see her in church. So what's the difference, huh?"

Quirking a brow, I hold up my hands to put an end to that bullshit talk. "Fuck, if I'm goin' to church."

Wide-eyed and surprisingly surprised, Crowley gapes, and I take the advantage of his stunned silence, lying back on the cot, and covering my eyes, waiting for the lecture that never comes. And after a while, I hear him get up with the creaking springs bouncing back into place.

That he would even think I'd consider going back to the church baffles me. Like being stuck in this hell for the past two years wasn't punishment enough. I hardly intended to torture myself of my own free will- which I have. See, I learned a few things sitting up on that alter, and that was the only one that mattered.

Falling in and out of consciousness, I think about Bella; her hair, her eyes, her nose, and her lips, how they taste, how they feel, how they curve when she smiles. The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen and she wanted me, wanted me as bad as I wanted her, and I ruined it.. had to. She deserved better. She _deserves_ better, and I don't have it- never will.

I'll never have the nice house, and the nice car. I'll never be able to afford the big ring, and the hefty price you have to pay just to say _I do._ And if I can't give her that, there's no reason to give her me, even though I'm already hers. She didn't deserve to be stuck living nowhere, with no one. She didn't want to raise our kids on the South side of town. Hell, no kid _should_ be raised on the South side of town.

Sitting back up, I shoot off the cot, stupidly slamming my fist into an unwavering, cement block. Old wounds had healed, and I needed something to show, to show her, to show myself how much I hurt inside. _If you can't see it it's not there, right?_

Well it's here, I made sure of it.

I made sure you could see it.

Open, and throbbing, and bleeding on the floor.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Bella_**

Walking into work, I feel different. Clickity-clacking down the long, gray corridor, it's never seemed so loud, never felt so cold. Even Harry's acting strange.

"Miss Bella." Foregoing the usual wink, he only taps the edge of his flat cap, walking right on past.

_Well._

I can't help but read into it. Most likely uncomfortable with my past indiscretions, probably making it out to be more than what it really is. Maybe he's in a hurry, maybe he's not feeling well, maybe the heel of my poor, Manolo pump, dulled the blade of his saw, maybe..

Yes, definitely reading too much into it.

Rounding the corner and walking into the infirmary office, I get to work- checking charts for any changed orders, going over the patients' medication administration records, and then separating the medications into labeled cups. - Tedious, tedious, tedious.

Rolling my neck, I get ready for the guard to open the door, expecting the usual, derogative, verbal abuse. I'd been called more names, starred in more wild fantasies, and summoned with more cat calls, and ear-piercing whistles than I cared to count. And today wasn't going to be any different.

Making my way down the hall, I plaster on my usual, tight smile, making sure to keep the minimum safe distance, and obeying all the written rules. And when I reach his cell, I'm not surprised that he's nowhere in sight. He made it clear he'd forget about me, and it looked like he was going to go out of his way to make that happen.

After the last of the meds are passed, I quickly walk back to the office to sit and sulk, and wallow in my confusion and sorrows. _What better time to clean out my purse?_

I'm elbows deep, and surrounded by trash and receipts, when I hear a knock at the door. My heart flutters with the flip of my stomach as I stand, and straighten my silky, purple blouse and black slacks. And as the door slowly opens I take in a deep, cleansing breath.

"Hey Nurse Swan, you gotta minute?" Crowley asks, peeking around, and I nod, motioning for him to come in. "Sorry to bother ya, but it's-ah.. it's about our mutual friend." Pointing to the chair, his eyebrows ask if he can sit, and I nod again.

"Yeah, sure, sit."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem- you need a drink? You look a little.."

Waving me off, he shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good, thanks though."

I wait for him to say what he came to say, which feels like an eternity as we sit there in silence, listening to the light hum of the heater running overhead.

"He got his parole, so that's good. Have to admit I was a little worried there for a while- ya know- with all the uh.." Holding out a hand, he waves it up and down. "Well, you know."

Squinting, I nod- crossing my legs, and adjusting in my seat.

_Yes._

_I know_.

_What's the point?_

"That's great. I'm happy for him."

"Yeah?" Smiling, he sounds surprised.

"Well, yeah."

Nodding, he looks down at the ground, seemingly pleased. "That's good to know, good to know. Ya know.." Looking up, he squints back at me, thinking before he speaks. "He's not that bad of a guy. He's got issues, yeah, who doesn't? He's just.." Head lulling back, he stretches his neck, and sighs. "He's got his reasons for doing what he did. All those shitty things he said to you, he didn't mean 'em. He's just bein'is own worst enemy, and all that stupid shit, ya know?"

With some more nodding, I clear my throat. "Why are you telling me this?" I ask, not sure of his motive. _What was he getting at? What did he care?_

"Cause I care."

"Why?"

"Cause he's my friend."

Quiet for a moment, I stare him down, remembering all the terrible things he said about Edward, how he had warned me off, tried to scare me with stories of poor, cracked-out whores who couldn't afford their drugs, and how he assumed they paid for them. And let's not forget the likelihood of S.T.D.'s- which I thankfully didn't contract.

"You didn't sound so friendly a few weeks ago." I call him out, and he looks genuinely ashamed.

"My friend is an enraging, foul-mouthed bastard, and I lost my cool, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've done that. He may be an ass, but he'd never let those girls touch 'em, no way. Look.." Leaning forward, he rocks before resting his elbows on his knees. "His mother, she's sick. An-"He doesn't get to finish when there's a knock on the opened door.

"Excuse me, Miss Swan?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Edward_**

Stepping off the bus, I don't have to take a look around to know where I am. I know nothing's changed, everything's the same. I can smell it, feel it. Fish and the crushing weight of useless, unfulfilled dreams.

Walking the empty, city street, the cold rain drizzles, dripping off the tip of my hood, and I keep my head down, following the blinking, neon light in the window of Uley's diner. A second-hand, home-cooked meal sounded pretty good, and I had just enough for two. Good thing I was alone. I was starving.

Pulling open the glass door, I set off the chime of the bell, earning two fishermen's unwanted attention. And nod in thanks to the lone waitress when she tells me to have a seat- anywhere. The catchy Doo-Wop carries me all the way to the back, and I slide into a booth, facing the entrance. Once you've been jumped once or twice you start to catch on, and begin to watch your back. With the beatings I've earned over the years, I have no patience for even being tapped. But if I am, I want to see it coming. And I wonder if I'll ever break myself of these learned survival skills, if I'll ever want to. They could come in handy one day, and probably very soon once word gets around that I'm back in town.

"What can I get'cha, Sweetie?" _Emily,_ which I gathered from the plastic name tag on her stained, white shirt, asks; pulling the pencil from her greasy up-do, and placing it on the paper, quickly jotting down my order. A double sausage and gravy with two sides of bacon, and a piping-hot cup of coffee- decaf. The last think I needed was to be bouncing off the walls on my first night in this half-way house. Besides, my nerves were already shot.

"Can I get'cha anything else?" Emily asks, and I realize I know her. I remember her. I sold to her husband a few years back. He was a fisherman who got hurt out on the boat- pulled his back or something- and couldn't afford to go to the doctor, so he came to me. Good guy too, but probably not anymore. I probably should've said no, and told him about my brother Emmett who sells discount insurance just one town over. But a deal's a deal, right? A sell's a sell. Money's, money is money. And so, I didn't.

"No, thank you though."

As she turns away, her smile fades, but the wrinkles stay in place on the corners of her pale mouth, and the edges of her brown eyes.

_Brown eyes._

They look nothing like Bella's; no life, no hope, no love.

Feeling full, and wide awake, I shimmy out of the booth, leaving what's left of my cash on the table- which is a shitty-sized tip. And I feel bad, but such is life.

It sucks.

Pushing out of the chiming, glass doors, I book it down the still-empty street. Pulling the hood from my head, I let the misty drizzle, cool my burning cheeks, and turn down Dory Drive, breaking into a light jog; pretty sure Emily mixed up the decaf on purpose, which I rightfully deserved. This feels just as bad, if not worse, than coming down from a high.

Reaching the pier, I decide to take it. The faded, old planks creak under the beating soles of my shoes as I push my way to the pitch black end. The farther I get, the more shards of glass crunch under my feet, most likely from a couple of bored, punk kids that had nothing better to do than to go around busting lights. And for a split second, I hope they kicked out the railing too. At the rate I was going, I'd just _keep_ going, straight over the edge, and into the unforgiving ocean. And I wanted to. I wanted to be chewed up, and swallowed- never to be spit back out. I didn't deserve forgiveness. I didn't deserve happiness. I didn't deserve _her_. And for a split second, I felt like I didn't deserve to live, like I didn't want to, not without Bella_._

With full force, I hit the intact rail, knocking myself breathless. Stumbling back, I bend over, trying to catch my breath. It had been a few days since I last ran, and I could feel it in my burning calves, and in my lungs. But it felt good, felt really good, as I stretched the throbbing muscle of my thighs. And I was glad the railing had stopped me.

With a little less energy, I walk the length of the pier, going up the same street I came down, and turn right onto the main road. Lungs calming, I take a deep breath and blow it out, the long, white puff of air blowing back in my face as I pass Remora Avenue. Clucking my tongue, I back up and stand on the corner, debating. Jiggling what was left in my pocket, I make my way toward the discount store to stand in front of the row of assorted toy and gumball machines. The same ones Crowley and I used to feed as kids.

Thinking of no better way to spend my spare change, I pull out a shiny, new quarter, and shove it in the slot. Turning the handle, I feel the kick at the same time it clicks, and wait for my prize to hit the back of the metal, before flipping of the lid on the dispenser, and placing the round, plastic package in my pocket.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Bella_**

Speed-walking behind Officer Riley, I try to keep up, the clicking of my heels battling the pound of my heart. And I can hardly hear him when he speaks.

"I'll be right outside." Tapping on the cloudy glass of Warden William's office, he turns the knob to open the door and shoo me in.

_Okay.._

"Miss Swan, please have a seat, and we'll get started." The surly, old man never smiled, so that didn't count as grounds to start worrying, but I was.

"How are you, Bella?" The Warden asks, clasping his hairy fingers on the desk in front of him.

"I'm good, Warden, how are you?"

Leaning back, he unclasps his hands and scratches under his clean-shaven chin, looking off to the side. "I've been better, Miss Swan, been much better."

Well, that didn't sound good. - And, definitely counted as grounds to start worrying, which I already was.

"I'm sorry to heart that, Sir." I give my condolences, not knowing what else to say.

"Tell me, Miss Swan, do you know Edward Cullen, personally?"

_Oh, shit._

Heart pounding, stomach flipping, I wipe my sweaty palms on my slacks. I knew this would come back to bite me in the ass. And not only that, I didn't have anything to show for it, except that I was a no good, dirty, cheating whore.

"No, Sir. I've seen him a few times professionally as nurse and patient. But, that's it." I lie some more because why not? He hasn't called me out.

Yet.

Leaning forward the Warden places his loosely clasped hands on the desk, pointing an accusing finger. "And you, as his nurse, felt it necessary to go out of your way to come here on your day off and check up on him?"

_Oh, shit!_

With a raised brow, he watches me squirm before standing with an exasperated sigh. "How's Mike, Bella?"

Dizzy, I subtly touch the side of my head, trying to stop the spinning. "He's great!" And that's not a lie. Mike _is_ great. Mike is completely clueless.

"That's good. That's good." Nodding, he shoves his hands in pockets, and turns to look out the window. "I heard you were getting married."

"Yes."

"I know his father, done me a lot of favors that Alexander Newton, and I owe him one." Turning back to face me, he leans against the windowpane, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're just lucky you're in with the people you're in with, Miss Swan. This could be a lot worse." He says, counting off all the ways with a flick of a finger. "Firing, license suspension, public embarrassment. Did you really think we wouldn't figure it out?" Shaking his head, he smiles. For the first time, I see his yellowing teeth, and it sickens me. Or maybe, that was just myself.

Stomping back over to his desk, he sits down and hands me a piece of paper. "You will have two weeks to train your replacement, and get your _affairs _in order, at the end of which, you will tender your resignation."

* * *

**So, it looks like this is turning into a multi-chap fic.. How do you all feel about that? I want to hear from you! Thoughts/questions/concerns. But, it doesn't mean that I can answer them or ease any worry you may have. ;) Be sure to put The heart of country contest on alert! I'll be entering a o/s! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759! (- Love her, she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**Important: **Some of you may have noticed that I posted a teaser on ff for this chap; however, I will be taking that down and posting teasers on my** fb** page** Jonesn Fanfiction, **a few days prior to posting a chap. Big thanks **mosolis05** for making me a great banner! If you want to see it, and receive teasers and a pic for each chap, look me up on fb! And yay, I'm posting early!

**Warning: **Some drug use, possible triggers.

* * *

_**Bella**_

Alexander Newton has always been a sweet man; soft spoken, and never without a bright, white smile. He was well known as a real family guy, who was extremely giving to his hometown constituents. And now, here he was, ready to step up to the red, white, and blue draped podium, to deliver his long, over-due Senate, acceptance speech.

Being an honorary member of the Newton family since they moved back into town fifteen years ago, Michael and his father both insisted I stand beside them up on the stage. And while I wholeheartedly wanted to decline, there was no saying no to a Newton, so here I am; nervous, a little sick to my stomach, and a whole lot of out of place.

"Smile, Sweetie." Mike's mother hisses, her mouth unmoving as she pinches the skin on the back of my arm, causing my eyes to water. The fact that I was standing up here staking my '_claim to fame'_ caused her cold blood to boil; driving well-manicured nails to maim. And this wasn't the first time. Martha Newton had never liked me, and took every opportunity to make that perfectly clear with her constant, subtle jabs and endless praise over the beautiful daughters of her more suitable friends. It wasn't until she actually brought one home to dinner that Mike's father finally put his Armani-adorned foot down. It was the first and only time I'd heard him raise his voice.

"_And looking upon you now, I'm incredibly humbled and honored." _

I knew his speech by heart. He had been working on it ever since Mike and I were kids; practicing with us sitting on the couch most evenings after school, while Mike's mother kept to the kitchen with mine. And every night, Charlie would have to come and get us, and help Renee out and into the cruiser while Mr. Newton amused me; still with the speech, but at least he used funny voices. Those nights were always the best and the worst. It wasn't until I was a little older that I realized what went on in the kitchen, and that those funny voices were a distraction. He was protecting me.

Once he's thanked the crowd for their '_much appreciated support',_ we follow him down the three steps and into the sinking, wet grass.

"Mike, Isabella sweetheart, come with me and let me show you two off." Mr. Newton insists, placing a placate hand on my upper back to lead me in the direction of his colleagues. "If there are two things a political crowd goes crazy for it's weddings, and babies. If we're lucky, Isabella, you'll be pregnant in six years' time." He laughs his fake laugh. And it's a joke. I know it's a joke. I hope it's a joke as I smile, shaking hands with a slew of old, graying men. And I can't help but picture all these same men sitting around an oval desk, discussing acceptable vows, and my ovulation schedule.

"Miss Swan, it's good to see you out and about."

I don't have to turn to know who it is. I'd know the snide drawl anywhere. It's the same one that didn't exactly fire me, but did. For a moment I consider acting as if I didn't hear him, but decided with Mrs. Newton's hawk-eye watching me, that wouldn't go over too well.

"Good afternoon, Warden Williams. It's good to see you too." Lying to this man was getting easier, and easier. "How's the new girl doing? Well, I hope." Small talk was uncomfortable, as he tells me the new girl is, in fact, doing rather well; followed all the rules, and wasn't as distracting to the grieving inmates of Clallam Bay. It seems a few got rather attached, and couldn't quite handle my sudden departure, which I didn't need to know. "Med passes are much more docile now. I'm sure you don't miss it." He was right. I didn't miss it. I missed what I found and then lost while doing it.

"No, not at all."

With a curt nod, he leaves me to go speak with Mr. Newton, and I wonder if he's told him of his suspicions. If Alexander knew, he never let on, not even a sideways glance. And while I was thankful for the well-played indiscretion, I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't hoping to be called out. It would be easier to be shunned than to leave. Over the past fifteen years, Mike's family has woven itself so deeply into mine; intertwining innate arteries, and rooting blue veins. And if one bleeds so does the other.

I try not to think about what would have happened if I had said no, if I decided to change my mind. Even if I did, I had nothing to fall back on; no job meant no income, and that meant no place to live. I'd put in an application to every hospital and doctors' office from Sequim to Queets, and no one had called; no one. No way would my parents let me move back in after turning down Mike's name, status, and most of all, his money. And even if they did, I wouldn't be able to handle living under their roof. I'd rather slit my wrists.

Fleeting consideration of suicide, floods my thoughts, and I can just imagine the embarrassment my botched attempt would cause this haughty horse and pony show.

_Better not chance it. _I decide, phasing my way out of the fancy crowd of cologne-doused, business men, and their stuck-up, Stepford wives; swearing to God, that if Mike ever buys me a string of pearls, I'll throw caution to the wind, and hang myself with them.

Teeth bone dry, and sticking to my lips, I make my way to the refreshments, finding a couple drinks half frozen. Why they felt the need to hold this function outside in what felt like the dead of winter is beyond me. Even on a sunny day like this, I could still see the white puffs of my breath. And there was really no reason for Mike to insist I wear my red Donna Karan; no one could see it under my very red, pea coat.

_Were the signs not obvious enough?_

Poking at the forming, shards of ice, I break them up enough to take drink, and bring the red, plastic solo cup to my lips. The cider feels good on my throat until I look up, and start to choke. Standing across the small park, not fifty feet away, I see him; Edward. I know it's Edward. I know it's him with his growing, copper-colored hair shining in the bright, Autumn sun. Hidden behind coveralls and grease, he looks as good as ever; tinkering under the hood of a car.

My feet act on their own accord, taking a few steps in his direction before I realize where I am, and what I'm doing. And I stop in my tracks; just standing there, watching him. I wanted to know how he was doing, where he was living, was he getting along all right- specifically, without me. I knew that I should just forget and move on, but _how could I? How could I forget? How could I move on?_ It wasn't that simple.

Heart pounding, I watch him smile and laugh. And even though I can't hear it, I remember. I remember the deep, hearty baritone of his happiness, and I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to wring his neck for forgetting me so easily. I wasn't like him, I couldn't just flip a switch. And even if I could, I wouldn't want to. I wanted him, and no one else.

As the wind picks up, it ruffles the peeking hem of my dress, and the loosely curled ends of my hair. And I'm almost convinced that it's us, our connection. It had the power to move proverbial mountains, and stir the whining wind, even in its wake. It was crazy._ I_ was crazy.

Crazy for him.

_Edward._

"Bella Babe, you ready to go?"

I feel Mike's hands grab hold of my arms, and I jump not realizing he was so close.

"What ya lookin' at?"

"Nothing! I uh.. nothing, really, just thought I saw Lauren Mallory, remember her from school?" He seems uninterested as he nods, waving to another couple a few feet behind us. But I still feel the need to elaborate on my idiotic lie. "But then I realized, it's not her, no way. She moved out of town after graduation; Renton, right?"

Giving me a weird look, he shrugs. "Uh yeah, sure. Hey, you ready to go 'cause Aro invited us out again tonight, and I kinda already told him we'd go."

Of course he did. This was the new and improved Mike. He didn't have to ask. He told.

Completely oblivious to my gaping glare, he doesn't wait for my answer, as he takes my hand and leads me in the opposite direction I want to go.

"Don't worry, Makenna will be there. You liked her, didn't you? You two seemed to hit if off last time."

Completely, oblivious.

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Edward**_

"Any use of illegal, prescription, or over-the-counter drugs?" Ben, my parole officer, jumps right in; wasting no time on conversational pleasantries.

_I'm doing great! Thanks for not asking._

"I used Motrin a little over a week ago; had a headache."

Nodding, he jots it down in his little, black and white, composition book. I didn't even know they made those anymore. I hadn't seen one since grade school. In fact, I hadn't seen a pair of red high-tops since then either. _How old was this kid?_

"Any use of alcohol?" He asks, still looking me in the eye. He hadn't stopped looking me in the eye since he walked in, and I was starting to feel uncomfortable. But I guess that was the point; performance under pressure; searching for any indication I'm not telling the truth.

"No, I don't drink. Never have."

"Yeah?" He says, like he can't believe a piece of shit like me wouldn't drink.

_Fuckin'.._

"Yeah." I rein in the attitude that's begging to be let out. I could tell him a thing or two. I was a good kid back in the day, believe it or not. All those parties Crowley followed me to; who do you think was the one carrying his drunken ass home, huh? Who does he think was covering for him when his crazy, cracked-out mother came sniffing around, wondering why he was still in bed at noon on a Sunday; God's day. _Jesus Christ_; her and those relentless, religious fanatics. Nag, nag, nag, that's all they did, and Crowley took right after them. I may have been a punk, but at least I was a sober punk. That is, until my mom get sick anyway.

"Just so you're aware, I need to inform you that you _do not_ have the liberty to go to a bar. Even if you don't drink, you can't be there." He stresses, as he holds my gaze, pointing his black, ball-point pen.

_This fucking kid and his pen._

"Yes Sir, I understand."

_Sir._

I restrain the huff, and unbelieving shake of my head. This kid comes in here all high and mighty, wearing what resembles a life jacket over his skin-tight thermal, and I feel the need to go and call him _Sir._

_How old was this Goddamn kid again?_

"I noticed you answered the door in your coat. Were you headed somewhere before I showed up?"

_Holy fuck, this asshole was nosy._

"Uh yeah, I was headed to work."

"At the garage? Uncle Mark's garage?" He looks up from his tablet.

"Yeah, minus the uncle part." And there I go again, sounding like stupid Crowley. Less is more. Nobody ever went wrong with talking less.

Smirking, he looks back down, scribbling some more in his book. "They warned me you were a funny guy." It's condescending, not amused in the slightest.

_Apparently, not that funny._

I keep my mouth shut, deciding he wouldn't appreciate the extra sarcasm. It's all I seemed to have.

"You mind if I take a look around?" Twirling his intruding pen around in a tight circle, he indicates to the small, twelve-by-eight hole-in-the-wall. Not much to see and I'm already late, but sure.

_Why not?_

"Be my guest."

I don't have to get up to follow him; I just do it with my eyes. He wouldn't even fit in the shelved closet. I watch as he walks; kicking aside a pile of clothes, dipping down to look under the bed. I stay quiet as he invades the privacy I'm not entitled to; sifting through dresser drawers, pulling out and going through boxes that I've stored in what little space I have. My first surprise inspection and I'm already severely annoyed with his messy approach, blasé attitude.

"Everything looks good here." He says, making his way to the front door; the hardwood floor boards barely creaking under the soft cushion of his rather loud, Converse shoes. "Don't ever let me catch you with any paraphernalia, none, never. Don't let me hear about you going into no bars. You stay clean, and follow the rules, and this will be smooth sailing. It will be over and done before you know it. You just gotta be strong, patient, and not fuck up. Capice?"

_Capice?_

_Who was this kid? _

_The fucking Godfather of Clallam?_

"Got it."

I wait for him to stop staring, and when he finally turns and walks out the doorway, I take a second to just breathe before getting up and walking out myself.

The other parolees are hanging out; sitting on the steps, standing in the narrow halls of the house. Even if I didn't have a job, I doubt I'd be hanging out in the open with these creeps. And I say creeps because that's what they are. I know nearly each and every one of them are still using. A couple of them have even tried selling to me; so much for a safe, drug-free transition back into an unforgiving society.

_Thank you, Holsier half-baked house._

"Cullen, wait up!"

Pulling out a much needed cigarette, I ignore the panicked yelling of Eric Yorkie. He was an annoyance when we were locked up, and he's an even bigger annoyance now that we're out.

"Yo Cullen, come on, Man, wait up!" He wheezes, and I stop to light up, blowing the first puff of smoke in his flushed face, before turning and walking away; hoping he'll get the hint. But that's just it, he never does. He pushes and prods until you're forced to listen because what else are you going to do? I can't punch him. I'd be taken right back in on assault.

"Okay, okay, keep walkin', it's fine, I can keep up. Walkin' and talkin' never hurt nobody, right?"

Well, there's a first time for everything. And if it did, Yorkie would be the one it happened to.

"Right so, here's the thing. I kinda need a job, and nobody'll take me seriously."

_No, ya think?_

"So I was thinkin', since you have an in and all, you could put in a good word with your uncle, maybe get me a job. I can detail, I swear. And I won't let you down, honest."

I don't answer as we walk down the main road, going around the small, Township Park. I usually cut across, but some politician was spewing amplified words of wisdom. And I try to stay away from all that political bullshit; pretty sure I was allergic to Old Spice, and over-priced polyester.

The barren park is not that big, but the detour makes me all that more late, and my Uncle Mark's impatiently waiting at the counter when I stroll in, Yorkie following closely behind me.

"You're late."

"Surprise inspection." Walking right by him, I shrug out of my coat and hang it just inside the office door, passing him again when I head toward the garage. "This is Eric Yorkie, your new detailer." I inform, not needing to see the look on his face.

"Is that so?" He asks, like he has a choice. He needed somebody, I found them; end of story. Nobody wanted to bring their car here, let alone work in this piece of shit garage. He should consider himself lucky. "Yeah."

Giving Yorkie the once over, He knocks his knuckles against the counter. "Well, all right then." He gives, pulling out the tedious paperwork, and a pen. "You, fill these out, and _you_," He points a greasy finger at me. "Get to work."

With a smirk and an internal chuckle, I mock. "Aye-aye, Sir. Right away, Sir." and give a half-assed salute, before pushing through the side door.

Even though I'm late, I'm the first one here. What did I tell you? Nobody gives a shit about this place; nobody, but my uncle, maybe me, and now Yorkie; the persistent, little shit.

The longer I work, the dizzier I get; the strong odor of burnt grease, and motor oil polluting my lungs. And even though it's next to freezing out there, I chance any foreseeable frostbite, and open the garage doors to let in some fresh air.

The ear-piercing screech of the faulty microphone has seemed to cease. And I think it's safe to say the torture's over, as the crowd slowly spreads out, and starts to disperse.

"So this Yorkie, he's a good guy, trustworthy?" Uncle Mark sneaks up, causing me to jump and hit my head on the open hood.

"Fuck, Mark!"

"Language." He scolds, pointing a warning in my face, just like he used to do when I was a kid.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Don't you yeah-yeah me, Boy. You may be grown, but you're still my big sister's kid.. punk kid at that." He has the nerve to tousle my hair, and I fake a punch to the kidney, causing him to flinch. And I laugh; the first real laugh since the time I spent with Bella. And my heart clenches, remembering hers. I can almost hear it in the whisper of the whipping wind.

"Storm's brewin'." Adjusting his hat, he blows some heat into his hands. "Supposed to get a few feet, but we'll see. Probably be lucky to get a few inches, which will bum-out the girls. They sure do love snow." He rambles on about my two cousins that I've never met, never really wanted to meet. Bree and Tia, they always sounded like a real handful. "Why don't you go on ahead and finish up, we're closin' early; gonna go see your mom."

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Bella**_

The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, as we work our way to the back of the club. The strobe lights blind, and I stumble, stepping on the foot of some poor soul. "Sorry!" I yell, but he doesn't hear me, doesn't seem to mind, so I keep moving. If he doesn't care, I don't care.

"Isabella love, how many have you had?" Aro asks, lowly rolling the l's in my name against the snug of my ear, and I quiver.

_Ugh!_

_Such a creepy creep!_

If he was paying attention to anything other than my ass, he'd know I hadn't had any.

Smiling, I shrug; playing along, hoping he'll turn out to actually be an okay guy and have Mike take me home. But no such luck, as he wraps a steadying arm around my waist, holding me closer than I'd like, closer than Mike should allow.

_Who does this guy think he is?_

"Aro Volturi, check the list." He orders, like he owns the place. _And why not?_ He seemed to own everything from the ports of Clallam to the muddy banks of Mercer Island. Either way, he needed to keep his greedy paws off.

"Where's the bathroom?" I ask, casually pulling away from Aro to tap Makenna on the shoulder; the lesser of the two evils. She at least, wouldn't hit on me; I didn't think.

With her usual blank expression, she grabs my hand, leading me through the suffocating clouds of smoke, and even more daunting number of people. You couldn't make a move without grazing an appendage of an inattentive stranger.

This type of place was a far cry from my kind of scene. I was more of the stay-at-home-in-my-pajamas-and-sip-a-diet-Coke kind of girl. The most exciting thing about my Saturday night's was successfully removing all of the popcorn kernels from my teeth. And Mike used to be the same way.

Passing by a couple dry humping on the floor, I think about Edward and how I was never one for public displays of affection, how I wouldn't think twice about hiking up my Dolce dress, and grinding against the encouraging rough of his dark-wash jeans; come all over them in front of all of these people. And I'd do it. I'd do anything for him, except what I needed to do; the only thing that mattered.

Was I willing to tear apart two families for a 'what if'; a 'probably never will be.'

I wasn't so sure.

"You fucking whore!" Is all I hear, before feeling a cold splash against the skin of my exposed collarbone.

_The fuck?_

Mouth agape, I look down to see dark, red remnants, of very, red wine trickling onto royal blue silk.

_Silk!_

"That was meant for you, bitch." The psycho explains, pointing her pink press-on in Makenna's face. It's the only apology I get, before I'm quickly pulled into the ladies restroom. Locking the door behind us, Makenna turns with a grimace. It's the most I've ever seen her face move.

"Oh, she got you good. And silk too; that sucks."

Yes, it does suck. This whole day sucks. Even seeing Edward sucked.

_Fuck!_

"Who was that?" I ask, dabbing at my skin and saving what I can without making it worse. Digging through her clutch, she doesn't even pause.

"My sister."

_Her what?_

"Your what?"

"My sister." She clarifies, pulling out a small, silver vial. "Kate's a real cunt, and has been ever since I married Aro… _Jealous_." She whispers, unscrewing the lid and pulling out a scoop. "Hold that, would ya?" She hands me the vile, before pressing closed one nostril, and sniffing the white powder through the other. I'm struck dumb, before my mind starts to race with the beat of my heart.

_No, she didn't; she couldn't have. Please tell me I'm not holding a vile of coke._

_Powdered sugar, it's powdered sugar, because, you know, she likes to bake. And occasionally sniff it up her nose. That's normal right? Yes, that's totally normal. Normal people do that; carry around a vile of powdered sugar, and sniff it._

"You wanna bump? I guarantee you'll forget about that dress. Either that, or go full-on and kick Kate's ass. I'm down either way." She giggles, lulling her head back with a hum.

"No, thank you."

She shrugs, as if to say, _your loss_. "Ya know, I told her Aro said she could come into our bed; earn her keep that way, but nooooo.." She drawls, and I vomit in my mouth a little.

"Who, Kate?" Why I ask, I do not know; knowing full-well she's talking about her _sister._

"Who the fuck else were we talking about?" She asks, snatching the vial, and spilling a little of its contents on my hand. And I'm internally freaking out!

_Oh shit, is cocaine absorbed through the pores?_

_Get it off!_

_Get it off!_

"Shit, hold still." She instructs, dipping down and sniffing up the spilled, white powder from between my thumb and forefinger. I don't even think to pull back as she flicks out her pink tongue, licking up what's left. I realize I'm panting, as Lavender contacts peek up through long lashes. And I re-think my assessment; Makenna and Aro are both equally evil.

"Have you ever kissed a girl, Bella?" She breathes, still hovering above my shaking hand, and gives the skin another quick lick.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

I don't answer, I can't. The thought of her probing, coke tongue has me stunned. And I can't believe she just asked me that.

Of course I don't!

Recoiling, I wipe my hand on my already-ruined dress, and turn away to unlock the door. Quickly swinging it open, I don't look back, as I push my way through the condensed crowd, not caring who or what gets the brunt of my six-inch heel. I was getting the fuck out of here… and now.

_How did I get caught up in this shit?_

_When did my life turn into some fucked up, privileged cliché?_

_Cocaine, really?_

Ready and rightfully pissed, I round the corner, pushing through the plush, purple curtain to find Mike.

And I do.

Find Mike.

Bent over a high-top table.

Rolled bill in hand…

"Mike!"

.

* * *

Some more **important** ramblings: If you want a teaser and a pic for upcoming chaps, then look me up on **fb, Jonesn Fanfiction**. Also, I will not set a schedule for this story, seeing as it was originally supposed to be a one shot, and is not pre-written. And don't forget to put **The Heart of Country Contest** on alert! I'll be entering a one shot! And last but not least, my story **The Parlor** was nominated over at **twifanfictionrecs. com** for top 10 fics for the month of December. So if you want to be super sweet, please go vote for it, and I'll love you forever!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759! (- Love her, she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.

**Warning: **Some drug use, possible triggers.

* * *

Kinda short, but tis life..

* * *

_**Bella**_

There comes a time in everyone's life, when the person you thought you knew, turns out _not_ to be the person you thought they were. A friend, a lover, possibly someone you considered family, they'll take your trust and bend it till it breaks; leaving you stunned, and unsure of everything you once thought you knew. And in a second, your life has changed.

For me… this was that time.

"Mike!" I scream, not believing my eyes; knowing full-well I should just turn around and run, but could I?

I wasn't stupid. I knew what was going on, I knew this was a dangerous situation, but I mean really, could I?

My careless feet didn't think so, as they carried me further into the not-so-private, back room; with all the yelling and screaming I was doing behind this pulled, purple fabric, this secret was out.

"Mike!" I scream some more, stomping passed a couple of surly bouncers, and straight into Aro's grip.

"Fuckin… Let go of me!" Fighting against him, I only make it worse, and he wraps both arms around me, restraining mine.

"Ta-ta-ta, Isabella, you need to calm down." He coos, his lips barely touching the snug of my ear. I cringe, barely able to pull away.

_Calm down?_

_Calm down?_

No way was I calming down, not with him this close; the claustrophobic hug he had around my middle making it hard to breathe, and me physically ill.

Doing the only thing I can think of, I stomp my six inch heel on top of his shiny, Testoni Moros, and dig the tip into the pompous penny loafer, trying my best to scuff the expensive, alligator skin. I knew how much he paid for them, and that one blemish would hurt him more than any physical pain I could ever hope to cause.

"Mike!"

Squirming, I practically growl, desperate to break his suffocating hold. _Was he insane? Was Mike insane? Cocaine, really? _Of all the clichés I didn't see coming, this was by far the worst, and completely unacceptable. _What was he thinking? _

"Oh Mikey, you've got a feisty one here, yes. Do tell me, please, is she this much of a spit-fire in bed?" I scream for Mike, as Aro lets out a high-pitched cackle, holding me tighter, running his pointy nose along my jaw, and neck. His rank breath smelled of choice scotch and imported Cubans, and my stomach turned. No wonder Makenna had hit on me. Anything was better than this.

"Watch, Isabella; watch as our little boy becomes a man."

Stunned, I do. I watch as Mike ignores my shrill cries of _who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing;_ lining the bill up to the end of the white, powered line. I can't feel my hands or my feet, as he sweeps it clean with one, short sniff.

"_No…"_ Defeated, I needlessly beg.

The damage was done.

The bottom dropped out.

And there was no taking it back.

"_Mike."_

It was safe to say I'd known him for the better part of my life. I knew his personality, and preferences. I knew his tastes, and his tells. Favorite food, favorite song, favorite movie, I could name them all because they never changed; _he _never changed. But this; this wasn't him. This wasn't the boy I grew up with. This wasn't the boy I knew. _He _would have never done this; not to himself, not to his family.

Never.

"Let me go." I growl, but Aro just laughs, kissing the wine-stained sleeve of my dress. It was ruined, and now tainted with the spit of his just-licked lips. And I couldn't wait to get home and burn it.

"Now, why would I do that? You taste too sweet, my Isabella; like saccharine syrup, and juicy, black grapes." He purrs, and I turn my head, trying to get away from his smoky stank. I was quickly running out of strength to fight his firm hold, and found myself shrinking into it. Maybe if I played along, or calmed down, he would show me some sympathy.

"_Please."_ It's barely a whisper, but he hears it nonetheless.

"Oh yes, Isabella, that's it; beg. I like it when they beg." He tells the quiet crowd, as the sting of unshed tears blurs my vision, and I blink. There was no winning with this creep. There was no getting out of this; not without Mike, and maybe not even then. Whether Mike chose to see it or not, Aro was twisted, and corrupt, and wanted me. And if Mike was willing to let him, he would have me, and right here on this cold, black, marble floor. And maybe I deserved it for all I'd done. Maybe, this is what I got.

_Maybe, he knows._

"Let'er go." Mike orders, a deep rumble replacing his timid voice, and I let out a shaky, held breath. _Did I drive him to this? _

"But Mikey, I want to play." Aro coos, fingering the outline of my breast, and Mike snaps. Storming across the shiny flooring, he yanks me from Aro's hold, roughly pushing me back. And I stumble, grabbing hold of the plush curtain.

"I told you not to touch her; don't ever fucking touch her!" Standing taller than I'd ever seen him before, Mike's blue eyes burned black; fierce, menacing.

He was gone.

Holding his hands up in defeat, Aro backs away with an amused grin. And I'm amazed with the sudden shift in authority.

_Since when did Mike hold all the power?_

"Get the fuck outta here, Bella." Mike orders, tossing me the keys, and they land on the ground with a loud clink.

"But, Mi-"

"I said, get the fuck out!"

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Edward**_

"So, what happened? One minute you're behind me, and the next you're not. I didn't let you borrow that truck for unplanned, joy rides and extracurricular activities… whatever those may be." Scuffing around the apartment, Mark calmly scolds; picking up an At Home magazine to look at the cover, before throwing it back down. "Ya know toilet paper's less expensive, right?"

And even though he kind of just accused me of reverting back to my old, sordid ways, I can't contain my amused smirk. "Yeah, whatever; let's see you sit here, night after night, with nothing of substance to read. Two days, and you'd willingly sell your soul for an outdated US Weekly."

Shaking his head, Mark sighs, plopping down onto the edge of the bed; the whining springs giving under his weight. "So, what's up? Where'd you go?"

Huffing, I shrug, "somewhere, nowhere, anywhere else but there."

He gives me an incredulous look, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You mind tellin' me why?"

"You know why."

"Goddammit, Edward!" Standing, he takes another trip around the small room; pacing once he's made it back to where he started. "You know she don't care nothin' about that. She loves you, Edward. And she wants to see you. You owe'er that much."

Nodding, I agree, but can't look him in the eye; knowing that I owe her that much, that I owe her so much more than that. But I can't do it. Even though I know I should, I can't see her. I've done too much.

"Good thing she's got Emmett then, right; seems only fair."

"Don't start." He grumbles, focusing on the floorboards, as he wipes a hand along the top of his copper-colored hair; the color, and unbreakable habit he passed down to me.

"Don't start what, what am I startin'?" I ask, knowing full well what I'm starting. Emmett's always been the good son, always. And when Mom first told us about the cancerous disease that was eating its way from the inside out, he had cried. He had laid his head in the welcoming comfort of her lap and cried his hazel eyes out, while she stroked his curly, brown hair, and I… Well, I went out and got high for the very, first time.

"You're startin' a pity-party, poor me, poor Edward; made a mistake and now I'm forever payin' for it." With a scoff, and a lift of his full head of hair, he gives me that look; the look that puts all my bullshit to an end; always has, and apparently always will. "You may have that coward's name, but it's Masen blood running through those veins, Boy. You're better than that, and you know it."

Twenty-six years old; I was twenty-six years old, and he still held the power to ration the shame right out of me. "You did your time, Edward, and hopefully you learned your hard-headed lesson. You learned your lesson, right?" He goads, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, as his thick brow pulls to its peak.

"Right?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Bella**_

Standing there, staring at the keys, I blink out a new round of fresh tears. I knew I should pick them up, run out of here, and never look back, but I couldn't. How could I just leave him; unstable, and yelling, and towering over his boss like he makes all the rules? He was fucking up his life, his future, and I couldn't just stand by and let him. I may have been a shitty fiancé, but I could be a good friend. And he needed a good friend. I owed him that much. "What are you doing, Mike? This isn't like you, can you not see yourself?"

Scoffing, he strolls over, bending to pick up the keys and then place them in my hand. "You know nothing about me Bella, nothing about this, so why don't you just do as I say, and get the fuck out?"

_I know nothing?_

_Was he serious?_

_I know nothing._

"Perhaps you should let her stay, Mikey, so she can keep an eye on you. You know how off-kilter you can be when it comes to this stuff. _This is only his third time, takes some getting used to." _Aro whispers behind a blocking hand, before turning his attention back to Mike. "Besides, she should know what she's marrying into, should she not?"

_That got my attention._

"Shut it, Aro." Mike growls, his yawning gaze flickering between my wide eyes. _What was I marrying into? Was he in deeper than this? What could be deeper than this? What was Aro talking about?_

"_What _is he talking about, Mike?" I ask, not sure if I want to know, but pretty positive I should. If he needed help I could help, but no way was I marrying him, not like this, maybe not ever; no, not ever. He made the decision for me.

"Nothing." He sniffs, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. And I know he's lying; even high, he has his tells; like scratching the non-existent scruff on the underside of his chin.

"The family b-"

"Aro!"

My heart jumps as Mike shouts, cutting Aro off before he can explain what Mike should be. If this affected either one of our families, I needed to know, he needed to tell me. But I knew I wasn't going to get anything out of him, not now, not like this. I couldn't trust anything that came out of either one of their mouths, as they sniffed, nearly vibrating in place.

Having enough, I turn away as Mike lays into his boss for the second time, not even sure where I'm headed; home, my parents; I didn't know, I just knew I had to get out of there. Yanking open the dividing curtain, the deafening beat of the bass vibrates; seeping into the tingling, fine hairs on the surface of my skin; all the way down, deep into the bone.

My heart has had about as much as one can take, when someone grabs my arm, pulling me in a direction I really don't want to go. On instinct, I jerk away, almost certain it's Aro, but it's not.

This hand is warm, and protective.

The voice it belongs to; concerned.

"Bella?"

Mouth dropping open, it expels held breath and confusion.

"Crowley?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

_**Edward**_

"Yeah." I say, giving Mark a weak shrug.

Big mistake.

"Yeah, you learned your lesson? Cause you don't seem all that sure." He pushes, and I huff, trying not to roll my eyes. He would have had my ass, and I wasn't in the mood to have it chewed.

"Yeah, I learned my Goddamn lesson, all right?" I stress, adjusting in the antique, high-back chair; the only other, dated piece of furniture that fit in this sad excuse for a room. It was covered with light-pink flowers, and faded green leaves; fit for an old lady. But I probably shouldn't be complaining, since it at least still had a nice cushion.

"Language." Mark scolds, like he always does, and I smirk, like I always do; being a verbal lost cause and all. I may have been reformed, but no way was my language. If anything, it was worse; way worse.

"Yeah, yeah."

Marks stare narrows with my response, those two words really got under his skin. Maybe I did need to meet these two cousins of mine; teach them a few things to double the gray hairs on their dad's head.

"Now you just gotta get your head outta your ass, and get over there and see your mother. And I mean it."

Nodding, I concede, too tired to fight him. I just wanted him to leave so I could toss and turn all night on the worn, thin mattress... and hopefully dream about Bella.

"Okay, well…" He starts, interrupted by the wrongfully, deep crooning of _'_Right Said Fred', and I groan; wondering how the fuck Crowley got hold of my phone to change it back _again_.

_That fucker was far from sexy._

I motion, with a roll of my eyes and Mark nods; a smug smile pulling on the side of his mouth. If I didn't pick it up, he'd just keep calling.

_Ya, he's stupid and persistent._

But more like, persistently stupid.

"What did I fucking tell you?" I answer, my annoyance cut short by what he has to say.

"Bella's in trouble."

* * *

Who else is ready for Bella and Edward to meet back up? Thanks for reading and reviewing! Jonesn Fanfiction on FB if you want teasers for upcoming chaps.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759! (- Love her, she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.**

* * *

The things we think, say, and do for love, right?

Right…

* * *

_**Edward**_

Snow.

I never did like the stuff; not the color, or the slippery consequences. Yeah, it was pretty to look at while comfy and cozy; all warm and wrapped up in your home – or in my case – an uncomfortable, cold halfway house. I could appreciate the beauty of it, sure, but not when it was pelting against my windshield at sixty miles per hour; making me dizzy with its winding vortex of never-ending, deceptive purity.

Why I was even out here, headed into the cold, drizzly night, I didn't know – which was a lie; one of the biggest lies I had ever told anyone; one of the biggest I had ever told myself. And I would be lying still, if I said I wasn't good at it.

Nearly everything concerning my life was, is, and probably always will be a lie.

…For example…

'_Edward, did you stick your gum in Katie Call's hair?_

'_No.'_

Lie.

'_Edward, did you break the old, oil lamp that Nana Masen left me?'_

'_No.'_

Lie.

'_Edward, have you started using again?'_

'_No.'_

Not a lie, but an omission.

She didn't ask if I was selling. And if she had, I would have lied.

And let me never forget the biggest lie of all…

'_Forget about me little girl, cause I'm sure as hell gonna forget about you.'_

Lie.

Complete, total, un-fucking-comprehensible lie.

She was_ all_ I thought about, all I still think about – always. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her out of my mind; her long, dark waves of auburn hair; the baiting, brown brilliance of her beautiful eyes. I dreamt of them and her lips; how they felt, tasted. And I wanted to do both; feel and taste them – again, and again, and again.

_Fuck!_

Repeatedly punching the center of the wheel, I sounded the obnoxious horn, not giving two shits about waking the dead. I could give a fuck! My insides were crawling with unfulfilled need. How could I live like this? Why wouldn't it fade, end?

I told myself I would stay away, that I wouldn't pull her in and wrap her up in the long, folding arms that were the mess of my life, but I can't stay away.

I don't _want_ to stay away.

I wanted to see her; _needed_ to see her. Every part of me hurt, especially my chest. But that was only when I was breathing. And when wasn't I breathing?

"Fuck!" A dry whimper breaks free from the pit of my throat, and it feels good; really good. And I'm sure it would feel even better if I let these prickling eyes flood, but I won't; I'll never.

_Never._

Sick of these sodden, back roads, I pull onto the Straight, heading East toward my girl; _my _girl – mine. It didn't matter who she marrying, she wasn't anybody else's; she was mine, and always would be.

Always.

Once on the much cleaner highway, I press on the gas, bumping it up to seventy; not caring in the slightest for my, or any other, traveling fool's safety. Bella needed me – me; not stupid Crowley, not that unlucky fuck who decided to decorate _my_ girl with his sparkly, overcompensation. He could take that unnecessary hunk of rock and shove it up his flashy ass. Bella's beauty didn't need to be embellished. There was no reason to clutter her perfect little finger with the gaudy show of solitaire. _My _girl didn't need it; didn't want it. And that's why I wanted her, needed her, _loved_ her.

"Fuck!"

Was it even healthy to want someone this much? And if I went too far, if she changed her mind; could it kill me, would I die? The way my chest tightened and stomach turned, I didn't doubt it; not for a second. Losing Bella would surely kill me; slowly, but surely. And I would die; no doubt.

I wondered if that's how it happened. Did my mother love my father so, unbearably much that it was killing her; slowly, but surely? Would she die?

_Shit._

After he left, she was never the same - calm and quiet; the light vanished from her sallow, green eyes. She disappeared into the crowded pews of St. Peters - that fucking church.

Shaking memories of scratchy vestments, and wasted Sundays, I take the exit, turning onto Front Street, following the bright, shining beacon of _Pulse_ – which is exactly what it was – the thrumming heartbeat of this shady town.

When Crowley called me and eventually coughed out where they were, I knew it was bad; for the simple fact that no good could come from this place.

I knew I shouldn't be here. I knew I should've just let Crowley take care of it; put her in his car and take her where she needed to go, but I couldn't. I wanted to see her; _needed _to see her.

…_So fucking weak._

I was so fucking weak!

Parking a couple blocks away, I jump out of the truck's cab, ready for a fucking fight; wanting desperately to feel the warm, sticky satisfaction of someone else's blood on my thirsty knuckles. It had been a long time; not since the first time I had to protect what was mine.

'_The right to think or talk about your cunt.'_

I cringe at the crude words I had once used with her; the way I used to talk to her; touching her without her consent, and in her place of work no less. When had I become such a creep? Was I always this way? Didn't my mother teach me any better? If she had, I couldn't remember. But I'll tell you what; she should've; she should've beaten that chivalry shit right into my ass.

Breaking into a light jog, I head down the dimly-lit street, not really caring who the fuck sees _me_, I just didn't want them seeing what I drove up in; baseball bats are a dime a dozen, but my uncle's truck was worth more than that, and none of these shits would hesitate to bust the fragile windows, or dent the boxy frame. And I couldn't have that; no way.

Quick like a goddamn cat, I pass the surely bouncers, bounding straight up the steps; smack dab into Crowley's puffed out chest.

"What the…"

Stumbling back, I catch myself on the nearby rail, and steady my feet, before giving him a good shove.

"What the fuck, man? Get out of my way!"

Shaking his head, he pushes me back and out of the doorframe. "Calm the fuck down, Man; you know you can't go in there."

Shoving him again, I try to go around, but he's a strong fucker and a lot bigger than me, so I don't go anywhere. "I swear to God, Crowley; where is she?" I may not be able to get around him, but my bark could be just as bad as his bite.

"She's right here, Jesus!" He steps out of the way long enough to let me see her small form, and I lunge, only to be pushed back by the stupid oaf.

"What the – "

_I want to fucking touch her, just let me fucking touch her!_

"We need to get some distance first, Cullen, trust me."

Biting my tongue, I shot him a glare, before turning and heading back down the stairs. When Crowley busts out the _'trust me'_, I do. And especially considering where we are. He may be stupid, but he also knows to keep his mouth shut when it counts.

…But only when it _truly _counts.

All the way down, my focus was on seeing Bella; touching her, smelling her. I missed the pheromone high; I just needed one hit from the top of her head, then I could relax; I could breathe. And once she hit the bottom step, I was right by her shivering side.

"Where the fuck is her coat?" I yell, making Bella jump and Crowley shrug his huge, dumb shoulders.

"Shit, I don't know!"

Growling, I unzip my gray hoodie. It was too thin for this weather, but it was still better than what little she was wearing – which looked good – really, _really_ good. Royal blue was her color – wait – what was I thinking? Every color was her color; she did each and every one of them a favor.

"Here," shrugging out of the faded cotton, I wrap it around her shoulders, needlessly helping her with the arms; just needing an excuse to touch her. Her skin was cold, and just as soft as I remembered. God, what the fuck was wrong with me? I never should've let her go; never should have told her those lies. Maybe if I didn't, we wouldn't even be here. And instead we'd be somewhere warm, all wrapped up, watching the falling flakes of fluffy, white snow.

Without even thinking, I pull her into my arms, running my hands up and down her back, trying to warm her. And she melts into me; fucking melts. And damn, if it doesn't feel good; too good; so fucking good.

"Thanks."

I hadn't even realized how badly I missed her voice; her sweet, angelic voice.

_Talk to me baby, let me hear you._

_Fuck!_

"You guys should probably get outta here. I gotta get back; bills and stuff."

Nodding, I look down at Bella, kissing the top of her head, before unwrapping her from the warmth of my arms to lead her to the truck. But then I remembered why I was here.

"Whoa, wait a minute, so what was the trouble? I don't see any fucking trouble." Looking side to side, I pull Bella closer, kissing the top of her head again, just needing to fucking smell her; she smelled so good.

_So fucking good._

"Well, consider where you are, Cullen. When is there anything to see? It's what you can't that you gotta be careful of." Stepping closer, he tipped his head toward my girl. "She was here with a Newton."

**.**

**.**

**.**

Bella and I had ridden in silence, ever since the mention of the man she was with, that she was always with, that she agreed to marry and spend a comfortable life. And a Newton, no less; I should've known. She was beautiful and poised and of course she was with a fucking Newton; she owned me and they owned this whole fucking town.

"I'm sorry you had to come out, Crowley shouldn't've called."

Glancing over at Bella, I find her looking out the passenger side window, wishing she'd look at me, scoot closer… touch me. Lord knows, I desperately wanted to touch her. I wanted to be free to touch her whenever, however I fucking wanted.

"I'm not, and yeah he should've." It probably didn't help matters that I sounded short and clipped. She probably thought I was annoyed with her, when that was the furthest thing from the truth. I was annoyed that she thought she was a bother when she could never be a bother; never.

"Why did he call?"

Briefly looking back over, I find her now looking at me, and I've changed my mind; it's incredibly unnerving.

"Why did you come?"

A suffocating silence, settles in the cab, and I shrug, desperately wanting to tell her that he called because he knows I care; which is the exact same reason I came – I fucking care; probably too much; so fucking much it hurts.

"Why was he even there? Is he working there?" She doesn't give me time to answer the other two questions, before she's shooting them off like she already knows the answers, so I don't tell her; she figures it out on her own.

"He lost his job at the prison, didn't he? He got fired because of me; because of what I did."

"Because of what _we _did," I quickly correct her, remembering exactly what we did. And while I felt bad about the unfortunate consequences, I couldn't bring myself to regret it; I know my dick sure didn't. Fucker had a mind of its own; twitching in the most inconvenient times and places.

_Fuck._

"Right." Her small voice sounded so sad, so distant, and I couldn't stand it. In no way was she responsible for what Crowley allowed, and what they unfortunately found out. If anyone was to blame, it was me; how I pushed and prodded, practically weaseling my way under her skirt. The way I see it, she had no fucking choice. I could be pretty convincing when I wanted to be. So, we did what we did, what happened, happened; that's it; period.

Sneaking peeks at the frowning side of her face, I thought about reaching out for her hand, offering some type of comfort; let her know that I was right there with her; that she wasn't alone in this torturous sadness, because she wasn't. I was hurting too, probably more than she was; I mean, look at her. She was so beautiful, so perfect and at one point she had wanted me, and I blew it. I blew it on purpose, and even if she realized I was completely full of shit, it had to have done a number on her.

_But, did she regret it?_

I cower at the thought, and even more with the reality.

_Of course she did._

I was such a fucking ass, what self-respecting woman wouldn't regret it?

"He's not mad, ya know. I don't think he even has the capability of that emotion." Which was true, the guy could sulk for sure, but I'd never seen him angry, not really – never.

"How he feels toward me is the least of my worries, Edward. I know he's married, I've seen the ring. They must have relied on that income. Do they have any kids?" Turning her head, she catches my reluctant nod, and I cringe with her groan; knowing she was going to beat herself up over it. She was so caring, so selfless, which only made me want her more; which only made this whole situation even harder.

"Charlotte, she'll be two next month… I think."

Her sigh is about as erotic as it is sweet, and I find myself stretching an arm in search of her hand, just as the wind picks up, knocking the truck's tires, and causing me to pull back.

_Message received._

No more touching; not just yet.

"Sorry."

Scratching the scruff on my jaw, I catch the corner of her eye, and maybe a slight smile; a smile I whole-heartedly missed.

"So, uh, how are you, how have you been doing?"

My heart falls with the direction this conversation is heading. I didn't want to talk about my lousy job at my uncle's crummy garage, didn't want to tell her that I was living with a bunch of losers, which in turn, kind of made me one too. I didn't want her to know any of that.

"I saw you today, working on a car. Is that what you're doing now?"

_Fuck._

"Uh yea… it's my Uncle's garage." I confess, glancing down at my oil-stained fingers. I knew that some girls found it sexy and I didn't know why, could never understand; even when Uncle Mark sat me down to explain after I had walked in on him and Aunt Maggie at the shop.

'_It's the oil-stains kid, the ladies, they just can't help themselves.'_

_Jesus._

The warped, life lessons that came out of that man's mouth…

Granted I was only twelve, and a bit distracted at the time, but why a woman would want some dirty, grease-ball's hands all over her was, beyond me. She should want a man who doesn't have to work so hard for what he earns.

A man like Newton.

"Have you always worked on cars?"

Safely stopping at a red light, I look over to find her looking at the same hands I wanted to hide.

"Uh yeah, pretty much." - Which meant, for as long as I could remember, Mark had me out there tinkering right along beside him; personalized plastic tool box in tow.

Adjusting in the seat, her stare follows the length of my arm, and span of my chest, to pause at my lips, before settling on my eyes; the blush in her cheeks deepening in the dark of the cab. Wetting her parted lips, the subtle swipe of her tongue glistens under the overhead, street light. And fuck, if I don't want to kiss her.

"Can I, uh…" Licking her lips again, she pauses, biting on the bottom; a nervous habit of hers.

"Can I ask where you're staying?"

And with that, I shut it down, pushing on the gas as the light turns green. She didn't need to know that; what did it even matter? Why did she even fucking care?

"You said Crescent Drive, right?"

I fucking hated the way it sounded, fucking hated that I couldn't just tell her; that I was ashamed of what she wanted to know. If shit was flipped, I would want to fucking know too. I would demand to know. And I would want to do something about it. Well, I didn't need her feeling sorry for me. And if she could do something about it, I didn't want her to. I didn't need anybody's help; especially not hers; especially not with this. So again, what did it fucking matter?

"Uh yeah, third turn on your left."

Nodding, I let her unanswered question, float in the stuffy, cab air. I could feel _it_; that and the weight of her unwavering stare.

"Why won't you tell me where you're staying?"

_Fuckin'…_

_Christ!_

"Why do you care so much?" With a venomous bite, I take the turn a little too sharp, and Bella grabs the dashboard, showing off that sizeable diamond; it sparkles, shining brighter than the Goddamn stars in the moonlight.

_Fuck!_

"I…"

"You what?"

"I…"

"You what, Bella?!" And I don't know why I'm fucking screaming; she just looks so beautiful. All I want to do is fucking kiss her, carry her into this house, bury myself between her thighs, and stay there forever. I don't want to talk; not about this.

Why can't we talk about anything other than this? Like, what's your favorite color? Or, tell me your favorite food. But it's not like_ that_ matters, because I wouldn't be able to make it for her anyway. All the guys share the same Goddamn kitchen, and I don't want them anywhere near her. I'm not even sure if lady friends are allowed. But it's not like _that_ fucking matters either. No way am I taking her to that shithole, no way I want her to see it; _no. way._

Sighing, I roughly run my hands over my face, pulling extra hard at my tingling lips, trying to calm down; trying to work up the courage to just fucking tell her where I live, how I live, how I don't know what the fuck I'll do, or if I can even fucking afford to do anything after my times up there. With what Mark pays me, I can hardly afford to take her out for happy hour at Uley's and no way would I take her out for happy hour at Uley's; no fucking way. She deserves better than a greasy doo-wop dinner, and an uncomfortable, group home nightcap.

_Fuck!_

"Sorry." I say, because I am; so fucking sorry.

"It's okay." The dejected tone of her voice says otherwise.

"This is me."

I pull over in the direction she points, putting the truck in park before turning it off. I'm not ready for this night to end, but I know it has to; I know I can't go in and I know she can't come back with me; this is where we are, this is the extent; carnal instinct, followed by silent sadness, followed by yelling and fighting, and then finally an unsure separation. And the fucked up part was it didn't matter if we wanted more; we couldn't have it; not yet.

Climbing out of the cab, I jog around to open up her door; not sure if I should take her hand, or if she wants me to. And while I'm silently debating, she's slides out of the seat, walking passed me.

"Shit!"

Turning to look at her foul, little mouth, she makes me want to kiss it even more, as her pink, bottom lip turns down, before sliding between those pearly-white teeth.

"Something wrong?"

It's almost comical.

"I've got Mike's keys." She holds them up and I just catch the round, BMW emblem.

_Of course he has a Beamer, why the fuck not?_

"Give 'em here. I'll take 'em back." Holding out my hand, I wiggle my fingers, and she shakes her head.

"No… No, that's okay. I'm sure he'll find a ride home."

_Home._

I try not to cringe as I look past her - at their _home._

_Fuck._

"Look, it's no big deal. I'll give 'em to Crowley, he'll tell him he found 'em on the ground."

Cute, little brow crinkled, she thinks about it, before shaking her head.

"No, then he'll know I didn't drive it. He'll be worried."

"About you or his car?" I couldn't help it, it just slipped out; not knowing if I expected her to take offense to it or not. Either way, her reaction didn't disappointment.

"You know, you're right… here." I just catch her terrible throw, before she's shrugging out of my hoodie. But I don't want her out of my hoodie. I don't ever want her taking it off, unless I was the one doing it.

"Keep it." Slamming the passenger side door, I jog around to climb back into the warm cab, watching her walk up the steps and into the house, before turning the ignition and putting it in drive; which is what I do. I drive all the way back to the seedy club, parking a few blocks back, because well… like I said, this place is fucking seedy.

Taking my time, I walk the dimly-lit street, freezing my fucking ass off, as I dial Crowley's number. And by the third time he doesn't answer, I'm pissed and hell-bent on giving him these keys and getting the fuck out of here.

Huffing into the palms of my frozen hands, I make my way toward the club and up the salt-covered steps, muttering the whole way. _"Fucking asshole, not answering his phone; why the fuck does he even have one; stupid, mother-fucking fucker…_" So fucking cold, I hardly hesitate before swinging open the heavy, metal doors to enter the pumping warmth.

_Here goes nothin'._

* * *

**Looking for any fics where Bella is from the slums/poverty/wrong side of the tracks. Good one's where she MEETS Edward - please note the emphasis on the _meets._ He could be a mechanic, firefighter, cop - undercover or otherwise. Bottom line is I want her to be strong, yet unfortunate, and him to be blue collar. Think Fast and Furious with less racin' and more lovin'. And hey, if that happens to be yours, pimp- yo-self, by all means. Thanks!**

**FB - Jonesn Fanfiction - for teasers.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759 cause she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.

* * *

Hello, all still reading! Anybody there?... *pin drop* Hm...well if you are, sorry this took so long, but I just couldn't write it. I mean for weeks, literally, I would just sit and stare at a blank page, until I eventually gave up and closed it. *hangs head and sighs* So this is short, but at least it's something, right?...You have no idea how bad I feel that I can't give you more, or better. All I can do is hope that this tides you over for now.

* * *

**_Bella_**

Stepping inside the door, I lean against it, resting my head on the hard English oak. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel the fading rumble of his engine siphoning its way through the bones in my chest.

Hope, happiness, sadness, and then fear; I felt them all. Rolled up they were rendered useless through the deafening hum and the numbing vibrations of the stuffy cab. I could still feel them just as strongly, as he shut me out, drove away, leaving me more confused than ever.

Outstretched and overturned, his hand had crept; his long fingers had crawled, calling out to my own. And they still tingle, tingle to touch him.

Only him.

Gathering the soft, thin cotton of his hooded jacket, I press it to my nose, and breathe in.

_Him._

His cool warmth fills my senses, burns my nostrils; it hurts so good.

_Him._

He hurts.

Himself.

Me.

Anyone he's ever come across, most likely.

He had a way.

A way of wooing and wiling, hanging you out to dry after getting you all weepy and wet.

It's what he did.

It's what he always does.

_Will_ always do.

Stupid.

I.

Am.

Stupid.

Stupid for letting him in.

Stupid for letting him wile his way into my life, and me out of my pants.

I am stupid.

Stupid for letting him sink his teeth in; for letting him set this systemic fire, for letting it burn and broil, branding me all over and under my skin.

He left a scar.

His mark.

The mark I wear with some sick sense of pride.

Stupid.

With a sigh, I let the bunched-up fabric fall back into place, and push off the door to make my way into the kitchen, not bothering to flip on the overhead light. The moon was enough, glowing gray and gloomy – exactly how I felt.

And there was nothing to be done about it, nothing that could help.

Except him.

If he would only tell me where he was staying, what he was feeling, how he was doing, if he missed me.

That would help.

That would be the only thing that could possibly help.

But he won't, can't, refuses to let me in and it's driving me crazy, driving me insanely insane; so much so I want to scream, I want to pull my hair, I want to stomp my feet and kick in the cupboards. And I want it to hurt; hurt so bad it actually feels good, because nothing could be worse than feeling this; this uncertainty, this confusion, this, this…nauseating churning in the pit of my stomach, this humming just underneath the surface of the skin, this heaviness of my hollowed-out heart.

I groan.

Stupid.

Opening the refrigerator, I blink at its bacheloric contents – a pathetic assortment of outdated condiments, a half-eaten package of honey ham, and an untouched head of lettuce; its leaves browned with sludge, rotted from unknown age.

_Uck._

I'm not hungry, it's only habit, as I close that door and open the one above it, finding a lone, iced-over Banquet's box. And I wonder when I had last gone shopping. I try to remember the last time Mike has actually eaten. But, I can't remember. I can't remember the last time we actually sat down and had an actual meal together.

_Hmm…_

We had been going out a lot recently – his father's political events, our near-nightly outings with that pointy-nosed rat and his cracked out child-bride. And if I had even remotely been paying attention, I might have caught on to his behavior sooner. Shit, who knows, maybe I could have helped?

Another sigh and I slam the fridge door shut. Turning, I pull out a chair, scraping its sturdy legs along the floor, to plop down at the table.

Picking at dried glue in the cracks, I remember my grandma, and how I used to help her with her crafts, how with every bittersweet burn, she would kiss-better the tender skin on the tips of my fingers.

_"A family belongs around this table, Bella. Fill it – all four seats, with kindness and love, and little, squirmy tushies."_

Yep – little, squirmy tushies – that's exactly what she said.

My grandma, Marie.

The smartest lady I knew.

The only in a long line of Higginbotham's to tell me that I could, and _should,_ marry for love, not money – which is exactly what I would have been doing.

See?

Stupid.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Edward_**

There's nothing like that first brush of heat to warm cold skin – comforting, inviting – everything that this place is not.

Scanning from side to side, I consider just walking back out and high-tailing it the hell out of here. It wasn't all _that_ cold outside. And to be honest, I'd rather chance freezing my ass off than having it handed to me on a platter – an expensive, silver platter.

_Why was I here again?_

_Oh, yeah…keys._

_Keys…_

Jingling them around with the loose change in my pocket, I push off the door and into the crowd, knowing exactly where I was headed, knowing exactly where he'd be.

You see, I'd been here plenty, slipping past the sea of spilt drinks and careless collection of loosened limbs. I just never thought I'd ever be back; back to see that nothing had changed, not even the putrid purple curtain dividing the not-so-good from evil. And I was sure, if you looked closely enough, you could still make out the splatters of strewn blood on the other side; the one that seldom ever see – where I know he'll be.

"You shouldn't'a come in here, man. What the fuck did I tell you?" I smell his shitty breath before it hits the back of my neck. If the fucker had answered his damn, useless phone, I wouldn't have had to, now would I? "Yeah, well…" turning, I shut my mouth when I realize he's not alone.

"He wants to see you."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Bella_**

Bending at my queasy waist, I splash my face with the pooled, lukewarm water, letting it dribble down and seep, staining my already-ruined dress a darker hue.

What a sight I am; stained and splattered, smudges of mascara blackening the bags under my lifeless, brown eyes.

No wonder he took off, leaving me all alone and with no way to find him.

I'm sure he regretted even coming, seeing me like this, risking his parole by going anywhere near that damn club.

_Oh, shit!_

Blindly reaching for a towel, I wipe the water from my face, forgetting all about the runny makeup.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Running back out into the living room, I throw on his jacket, breathing him in as I toe-on my shoes.

If this was going to work out, he couldn't break parole, couldn't go back to jail.

I needed him.

I needed him here, wrapped-up all warm and safe in the sheets.

I needed him with me, not thrown back behind two-inches of solid, prison steel.

No.

Grabbing my keys off the hook, I rip open the door, not bothering to lock it behind me, because I need him.

And I'm sure as shit he needs me.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**_Edward_**

Everything was exactly how I remembered it, right down to the cut lines on the high-top tables.

One face, however, was new.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Blondie asked, his black eyes widening in fear, like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar – or quite literally, his nose in the sugar.

This must be Mike.

"I thought you were out of town."

I'd never known gray-blue could glow such deep red, but Senator Alexander Newton always taught me a thing or two, and this was no different – just another lesson.

"I was, and now I'm back," he croons, slithering his way across the bold, black marble; his deep baritone gives the systems bass a run for its dirty money, "seems _my son_ has been testing the merchandise."

Grabbing hold of the back of Mike's neck, he gives a tentative squeeze, causing Mike's mouth to pop open in a wide 'O', before turning to me. "Now, what was that first rule, Edward?" He asks, waving me over to clasp me on the shoulder – just like old times. And it's incredibly uncomfortable.

"Never test the merchandise."

He squeezes, "right, right…never _test,_" he slaps Blondie hard on the back of the head, sending him forward, and into his next pile, "the merchandise."

The temperature in the room has raised considerably; the stuffy air making it hard to breathe, as he rests a well-tailored sleeve across my shoulders.

_Fuck, this is awkward._

"Have you met Edward, son? Do you know who he is?"

Clearing his throat, Mike shakes his head, as he rubs the back of his neck. "No, sir."

"Well let me introduce you."

My stomach flips with those five fate-sealing words. I break into a light, cold sweat.

What if he knows? What if he's going to tell him? What will this guy do when he finds out that I was the one fucking his fiancé; that my dick is the one she wanted?

I can't fight.

I don't want to fight.

But I will.

"Edward here was my protégé, my pride and joy. Never asked any questions, never gave me any shit, not like this one here," he pats Mike on the shoulder, making him flinch and recoil, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. "Edward was a good kid, good kid; his mother, a goddamn angel," nodding, he looks over in sympathy. And it's the last thing I want from him. But I have a feeling I'll need it.

I hate needing it.

I hate that he even knows her; knows anything about her.

I hate that I ever trusted him.

And I really hate that I feel like I still can; that I still want to.

"How is Esme, by the way? Better, I hope."

I shrug, and he nods in understanding.

But he doesn't understand.

"I should have married her instead, ya know, taken you and your brother in. I don't know what I was thinking," he says, shaking his head, while I just shake.

_What the fuck?!_

"It's been a real struggle, making it this far, having to keep Margaret's habit quiet. And this disappointment," he points to Blondie, "like mother, like fucking son, huh?" His laugh is loud and boisterous, nothing like the fake chuckle I've seen on T.V. And I'm wishing I never stepped foot back into this godforsaken place. It was full of bad memories; so many things that I wanted to forget, so many things that I never knew, never wanted to know.

"But, money marries money, Edward." Huffing, he barely shrugs his shoulders. "Money marries money. And that's why you're going to stay away from her." Leaning in, he tightens his hold around my neck.

"That's why you're going to stay away from our Isabella."

* * *

I have no schedule for this fic, and will not be making one since I don't even know if my mojo is actually back. This chapter was like pulling teeth – my own teeth – with no Novocain and a crescent wrench.

So, yeah.

Oh! And as for the fic recs I requested last update, you guys gave it a good try, but I'm pretty sure that fic doesn't exist. If you're curious as to what the recs were, please look at the reviews for chapter 6 and you can decide for yourself, cause I tend to be pretty picky.

And as always, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759 cause she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**_Edward_**

There's nothing like looking into the eyes of a man you always looked up to, a man you thought could do no wrong – the worst kind of wrong and in the worst kind of way.

I remember now – him coming around.

It was right after my dad left town.

He was nice, seemed nice anyway; never gave me a reason to think he wasn't – not when he could make my mom smile like he did.

And my brother and me, we were just two clueless kids, taking his hand just as quick as we snatched candy from a stranger – which we did often, and illegally, in fact. You know, it was different times back then. Shit was easier to get away with, people were quicker to trust, especially the sworn word of an innocent, little, altar boy.

I tell ya, those vestments were spun from heavenly fabric, after all, woven by Jesus himself. At least, that's what you'd fucking think, the way those bible-thumping ass-hats acted.

_Christ._

If I could shake my head, I would, but the death grip he's got on the back of my neck keeps it still. So, I just watch him out of the corner of my eye, as he uselessly lays into his flying-high son. And I wonder if he regrets it.

I wonder if he's sorry for the shit he's gone and put me and my poor goddamn-angel-of-a-mother through. Like he has a fucking right to call her that, like he has a fucking right to call her anything – the self-righteous motherfucker.

But then I remember of the second time I met him; a few years older, and not all that much wiser, he soon had me prove – prove that I was flat-out stupid, in fact; all too ready and eager to earn a little bit of extra cash, though I never spent a penny of it. That five finger discount really saved me a lot of money, money I eventually handed right back to him in place of powder and an assortment of pills.

_Fuck me.._

_Fuck him._

The biggest mistake I ever made was in trusting him.

It led to everything else.

So, yeah…like I was saying, there's nothing like looking into the eyes of a man who you trusted, only to find out that you never really could, that you never really should have in the first place.

There's nothing like looking into the eyes of the man who was the one to help you build up, then piss away your future and eventually…put you away.

"Do I make myself clear?" The Senator asks, turning his attention and discomforting, hot breath back on me. And I'm not sure how much clearer he can be.

Stay the fuck away from Bella.

Got it.

Which, fuck him, I wasn't.

No fucking way was I going to stay away from her.

But I wasn't about to say that.

"'Cause I don't think you understand me." His grip tightens.

I grimace. "Fuck."

"That's right, Eddie-boy, either you stay away from Isabella, or I'll _fuck_ you up so bad, you'll wish I just had you thrown back in jail…and then I will."

My heart pounds against my chest, competing with the pain of his grip. I wasn't too keen on the threat, but that fucking nickname…

"Now, do I make myself clear?"

Not trusting myself not to tell him to _fuck off_, or another one of my clichéd favorites, _go to hell, _I nod.

"Good," he spits, finally letting me go.

"Now get out of my fucking sight."

.

.

.

**_Bella_**

The roads are really bad, like really, fucking bad, like so fucking bad, I consider turning around. But I'm halfway there, and it's just as fucking bad behind me, so I keep going, which is what I really want to do anyway.

I'd never turn around.

No matter how badly I want to turn around, I won't turn around.

But I will slow down.

So slow, that I'm afraid I'll miss him; that I'm afraid he'll already have been there and gone. And now I'm worried that I'll never find him again.

But then I remember I know where he works. And I realize that it would have been a whole hell of a lot easier to just go there tomorrow when the roads were clear. I could have just followed him home.

_God._

I sound like a crazy person, considering stalking a man who obviously doesn't want to see me. But then again, if he didn't want to see me, why did he show up tonight? Why did he hold me and comfort me like he had? Why did he put his lips on me, my hair? Why did he breathe me in like I was something sweet to eat?

And I would let him.

_God._

Pulling off the Straight, I mostly slide down the ramp and onto Front Street; lifting a hand to hold in my beating heart, as I scan from side to side, searching for his truck.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot it.

And him.

He's leaning against it, bent over like he's trying to catch his foggy breath; hands in his hair when they're not wrapped around his middle.

I just watch him.

I watch him as pushes off the boxy frame, kicks the tire, then rips open the driver's side door and hops in the cab.

And then I'm following him.

I'm following him back up and onto the Straight, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I accelerate just to keep up. And by the time we come to a stop, all of my strained muscles are sore and aching.

I just wasn't cut out for the stress of driving in slippery snow.

I mean, shit.

Shaking out the stiffness in my hands, I watch as he climbs out and heads across the street.

I watch as he jogs up the steps.

Snapping out of it and opening my door before he disappears through his.

"Edward!"

* * *

I know it was short, but the next chapters the one you've all been waiting for.


	9. I know I shouldn't be here

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759 cause she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**_Bella_**

I know I shouldn't be here.

The wind picks up as soon as I step out of the car, sending a shiver down my stiffened spine and I realize this is a huge mistake, as I open my mouth to yell out for him again. Then he turns towards me, as I just stand there, mouth wide open, in my ruined dress and his thin, grey hoodie. And I just stand there, as he hesitantly makes his way back down the three, icy steps.

My heart beats wildly, most likely trying to break free from my chest, to go to him, like my feet don't seem to want to let me.

But it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter, because I don't have to; not when he's so quickly approaching, his eyes hard and troubled as they hold me, take me in, like I wasn't just in his sight mere minutes ago.

_Oh, God._

I'm not ready for this.

I'm not ready for him as brings his arms up, bracing each hand against the hood of my car, caging me in.

I'm not ready.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here," he cautions, glancing from side to side, his voice all worn and raspy. And I just want to touch him. I just want to lift my hands, pull him close, and just touch him.

But, I don't.

"I,uh…"

"You what?" He pushes, not only with his tone, but with a shift of his hips. And I can't help the startled gasp when the rough of his denim slips between my legs, sliding the silky blue of my dress up my thighs.

"I needed to see you. I needed to know you were all right," I blurt, and he quietly chuckles.

"I'm great."

It's sharp and sarcastic.

Just like him.

"You can't be here."

The look in his eyes is remorseful; the finality of his words lets me know that he's really not kidding. And I wonder who he might have run into on his way to give Mike's keys to Crowley – maybe Mike himself.

I don't know.

And I don't really want to know, so I don't ask.

I nod.

"I know."

I know.

Believe me, I know; even though I make no move to leave.

Even though it's apparent, he wouldn't let me if I did.

So, I don't.

I let him cage me. I let him rake me up and down, till I can't take it anymore. And I'm touching him; hands on his heaving chest – touching him. And it feels so good to feel him through the thin fabric of his white, cotton shirt.

"We can't do this," he groans; his insistence sounding more like a plea, and I agree, "I know," not caring in the slightest, as I pull him closer, and he lowers his lips to mine.

"Hey, Cullen!"

Lip to lip, he groans, tugs at the ends of my hair, and I moan.

"Yo, Cullen! That you?"

"Fuck."

Jerking back, he takes me with him, pulling me along across the dark, snowy street, where we pass the loud-mouth intruder, and make our way up the slippery steps; loud-mouth following closely behind us.

"Well, aren't ya 'least gonna introduce me to ya lady friend here?" The guy asks; clueless, as he forces his way around us, holding out a hand for me to take.

"Hey ya, I'm Eric Yorkie, and fuck me, you're the nurse," he blurts, pulling his hand back to slap Edward's chest instead. "Holy shit, it's true? I mean, it's fucking true. You were bangin' the hottie nurse, holy shit!" His cheesy grin fades when Edward pushes him against the hallway wall.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Yorkie, or I'll shut it for ya," he warns, pressing his forearm into the kid's throat. "You fucking got me?"

He nods, but Edward doesn't let him go, so I grab his other arm and try to pull him off. The kid's purple, but still conscious and coughing, when he finally lets him drop.

"I got you, man," he coughs, "I got you."

He continues to yell out "I got you, man! I got you! Not a word! I got you! Your secret's safe with me," as we leave him at the foot of two flights of stairs. I can't help but laugh as Edward pulls me into what I'm assuming is his room, closing the door behind us.

"What's so funny?" He asks, not looking up as he easily strips himself of his shirt, throwing it in a basket by the tiny, twin bed.

And I stop laughing.

I clear my throat, "uh, your friend," I say, watching as he stalks over, the inked web on his skin rippling with a flex of his hardened muscle.

He pins me against the door.

"I don't have any friends."

His breath is hot against my neck, as he unzips my jacket, sliding his hands back up along my waist, just ghosting the sides of my breasts.

"None?"

I'm hoarse with the heaving of my overworked lungs, the speed of my beating heart, the excitement from his hands being all over me.

"No…why?" He asks, sliding the jacket from my shoulders, letting it fall at our feet. I gasp when I feel his fingers run up the inside of my leg to slightly lift my skirt. "You wanna be my friend?"

His defense is paper-thin, vulnerability showing through the crook of his mouth.

"I am your friend."

His eyes soften as I raise a hand, cradling it gently against his cheek, and his mouth is on mine; opening, licking, tasting, soft and warm. And it's good, and it's right – the taste of him, the swirling, sweet taste of spearmint – him.

I moan.

I moan as he pulls away, licking his way down my neck, as he drops to his knees, hooking his finger in the crotch of my panties. He pulls them down. Down passed my knees, letting them drop to the floor; where he lifts each foot, untangling them from the fabric, and pulling off each of my shoes.

My hands tangle in the long strands of his un-cut hair, following as his head lowers; mouth opens to breathe moist heat between my shaking, spread legs.

"Oh, God."

It's all I can do at the touch of his mouth, the slick of his tongue as he bobs and licks, lapping at my swollen, pink flesh. The rough hair on his jaw scratching lightly against the sensitive skin between my legs.

"Oh, God."

My eyes roll to the back of my head with a twitch of my clit, the clench of my empty opening – I smile – it feels so fucking good.

So.

Fucking.

Good.

It's been ages since I've come, ages since I've touched myself – thinking about him, his mouth. But now he's on me, and _it's_ on me – open and hot and wet and so, so, so, so good, as he licks harder, and faster, lifting a leg to spread me wide open.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!"

This angle is much better.

It's hard to imagine anything could have been better than what he was just doing, but this is much better as I jerk and twitch, hold myself flush with his swollen, red lips.

And I'm coming.

I'm coming; so fast and so hard.

So hard I collapse.

But, he catches me.

He catches me easily, picking me up in his strong, slick-with-sweat arms.

And I can smell myself on his breath; taste myself thick and sticky on his lips, on the probing tip of his tongue.

Heart fluttering in my chest, tears form in my eyes, but I swallow them. I swallow them down with a tight squeeze around his neck.

This is so right; so right even when everyone else would think it so wrong.

And it's so unfair.

So unfair that we can't be together, like really _be _together; outside, on the streets.

I know he'll never let me.

He'll never let me hold his hand, kiss his cheek; not outside, not on the streets.

My arms loosen from around him, and my hands wander; skimming over the rough scars on his skin.

I wonder where he got them – all of these hidden, invisible scars – most on the center of his chest and abdomen.

And, I want to ask him.

I want him to tell me his story.

I want him to tell me about his life, how he wound up being in the situation that he's in.

I want to ask.

But I don't.

I just touch and taste, tease my way down to the buckle of his belt.

Fumbling at first, I finally get it loose, as he spins us around, resting his back against the door. And I pull it out, long and hard and purple from the pulsating pressure. He whispers against my lips, "Fuck, Bella, fuck," as I sink down on him – so deep I can feel him in my stomach.

"Oh, God."

My movements slow and deep, I savore the moment – the feeling of him filling me, touching me, twitching and thrusting up, deep inside of me.

I had missed this, missed him – his hands – the way they held me and guided me, using my body in any way he saw fit.

Any way.

And I smile as he glides them up my legs; the calluses rough against my soft skin, where he grabs hold of my ass, growling as he squeezes. I hold onto him as he picks up the speed, his shoulders flexing under the palm of my hands. Eyeing the black ink, I thumb the winding, rippled web; the tiny tendril trickling from the weaving arachnid's body; fascinated by the way it moves over the movement of his muscle, how it shines with his sweat.

"Mmm…" Everything about him turns me on – even this place, this room, the tiny, little twin-sized bed in the center of it. It just seems so dirty and wrong, but in a really, right way.

Twitching, I feel my orgasm quickly approaching, the ache in my knees only heightening the pleasure. And it's in this moment that I decide that I would do anything for him – ache, bleed, die – _anything_ for him, as he growls and sloppily thrusts, sending us both over the edge with a light nip to the yellowed bruise on my neck and a kiss on my shoulder.

Panting and sweating, we sink – him against the door, me against him.

His touches are sweet and tender, his kisses quick and firm, almost like a delayed hello before the inevitable goodbye.

Or is it just goodbye.

Holding me close, he breathes me in, kissing me against my ear. "We can't do this," he whispers, "We can't do this again."

Heart fluttering, I hug him tighter, this time not bothering to swallow the tears.

"I know."

* * *

Trust.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by the wonderfully talented SUNFLOWERFran3759 cause she completes me : ) Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**_Edward_**

Waking up next to Bella is the best feeling I've ever felt; the warmth of her cuddling side, the tickle of her long, haloing head of hair, better than any alarm clock – which is about to go off in – twisting uncomfortably, I strain my neck and blink at the glowing red zero's flashing at me in the darkness.

_Well, shit._

From the looks of the darkened, blue sky, it's no earlier than six, I decide, turning back over, snaking an arm around the soft skin of her stomach to pull her closer.

I breathe deep, smelling the warm scent of her hair, the lingering mixture of sweat on our now-dry skin.

When I told her we couldn't do this, I meant it. I meant it when she quietly climbed off of me, and went to pick up her matching, silk panties. And I meant it when I kicked them out of her reach, locked the latch on the door, and then leaned back against it.

She wasn't going anywhere.

And I meant it.

I am in so over my head, going against a man that could have me put away for good.

But what am I supposed to do?

Give her up?

Get out of town?

Well, I can't do either, not with the confines of my parole. I can't leave. And if I can't leave I can't get away from her. And if I can't get away from her, then I can't _stay_ away from her.

It's as simple as that.

I just fucking can't.

Skimming along her thigh, I grab hold of the back of her knee, lifting her leg to rest over my hip.

The warmth of her skin seeps into mine, and I moan, nuzzling my nose into her neck, rubbing my aching cock into the crack of her ass, as my hand slowly wanders back up the length of her thigh.

She finally stirs as I thumb the protruding bone of her hip, dipping my fingers down to find her dripping wet.

No doubt it's half of me leaking out from her, all thick and sticky, coating the inside of her legs.

After filling her with my cum the second time, I refused to let her clean up; refused to let her wash it away; instead, gathering it on my fingers and spreading it all over her tits, her lips, smiling as she wiped it off, panting, watching me lick her tits clean.

_Fuck._

Grabbing my cock, I situate myself between her folds, rocking back and forth to coat it in our slickness as she moans, rocking back into me.

I kiss the back of her head, closing my eyes to breathe her in.

_That's my girl._

Placing my leg between hers, I slide down against her back, thrusting back up into her warmth in one swift movement.

"Ungh!" She cries out, and I still; letting her wiggle, feeling her clench around me.

She feels so _fucking_ good.

I wait until she whimpers, before I start to move, long and deep as my hips meet the swell of her ass.

Bringing a hand up, I cup her chin, grabbing it firmly to kiss her lips.

Picking up speed, I hold her there, breathing her breath.

"Touch yourself," I growl, knowing she needs it so she can come. And I want, need her to come.

"Make yourself come, fuck," I grunt, trying to think about anything else but watching her touch herself.

_Fuck._

Lip to lip, I peek down to see her spread her folds. I watch as she runs a finger along the length of her slit, feeling a slight scratch of her nail when she touches me where we meet.

"Fuck."

My eyes roll in the back of my head, before she's gone, roaming back up to rub at the glistening, pink flesh.

She moans into my mouth and I moan back into hers, twitching as I still deep inside of her.

It may be our third go around, but I'm as quick to come as the first time I stuck my dick in that tight, little pussy; she feels so fucking good.

Too fucking good, as I watch her furiously work at her clit, rolling my hips to thrust short and deep; her mewls growing louder the harder I pump.

Her cries fill the small confines of the room, as she clenches around me. And I cup her mouth to keep her quiet, pounding into her spread, wet flesh, growling out with the pulsating stream of my release.

Falling back, I pull her close to catch my breath, breathing her in, and I almost cry.

Almost.

.

.

It was less than ten minutes ago that I sucked down that third cigarette.

But I want another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

_Damn._

Fingers twitching, I reach for the crusty, oil pan, throwing it down to noisily skid across the ground and hit a tire, where it comes to a halting stop.

And it makes me realize, _I_ have to stop.

Stop wanting.

Stop needing.

Stop thinking.

All I can think about is her.

Her smell.

Her skin.

The way it tastes.

_Fuck!_

How it's not mine.

Will never be mine.

Not really.

Not while Mike and his fucking father are around.

And I can't stand it.

I _can't_ stand. it.

Closing my eyes, I rub them roughly with the heel of my hands, before shaking it off and sucking it up.

I have work to do.

Grabbing a rag, I walk over to crouch down beside Mrs. Stanley's busted, old Buick; trying my hardest to think of anything other than those brown eyes, waking up next to her, the smell of her hair. I take out my frustrations with every crank of the jack.

If there was one thing I liked most about Mark's garage it's that it's old school; so out of sync and behind the times that you still have to jack up the car, lie down with your back against the hard wood of the creeper and roll your way under, because there's no pit. And there's really no reason to have one dug out when you've already perfected the "Mobil Mambo" – as my uncle so proudly calls it. And rightly so, I guess, since he's the one that made it up and all.

Smiling with the memory, I remove the drain plug with the socket wrench, needlessly readjusting the drain pan so that the oil doesn't spill onto the already-oil-stained concrete – who the fuck cared?

Not me.

Not when I have this peaceful solitude, this place where I can go and hide and forget my problems by trying to avoid burning my face off with a backsplash of hot, motor oil.

Well…

At least, I used to.

"Hey, Cullen!"

Jumping, I knock my head on the underside of the car, gumming my lips, to keep from yelling out.

I forgot this stupid fucker worked here.

"The fuck you want?" I ask, amazed as he actually lies down on his stomach, and shimmies his way under the car with me.

_What the..._

His proximity is a little unnerving, with his hot breath blowing against my elbow. And I'm this close to popping him in the mouth when he goes and opens it. "So, the nurse, huh?" He nods, grinning like a goddamn fool. And I roll my eyes, sliding out to let the tank drain, putting an acceptable amount of distance between us.

The kid had no sense of bubble space.

"Shit, I can't fuckin' believe it. I just can't," he laughs, scooting out right behind me, not getting the clue.

I don't want to fucking talk about it.

And you'd think he'd take that shit more seriously, ya know? I mean, I nearly choked him out for it just a few, short hours ago.

Shit.

It's almost as if he wants me to try and kill him.

"Then don't. What the fuck do I care?" I say, but I actually care a lot, 'cause _why the fuck not?_

Why the fuck was it so hard to believe that someone like Bella would want to be with someone like me, _huh?_

"Am I gonna have to separate you two?" Uncle Mark interrupts, and Yorkie shakes his head, while I just cross my arms over my chest.

_Yes, please._

"Y'all bicker worse than a couple a little girls," he huffs. "And I should know, got two of 'em."

With a smirk, he winks, yanking the dirty rag from my hand to wind it up and let it rip, smacking the side of my thigh.

"Fuck, Mark!" I yell, jumping back, rubbing the tender spot over my jeans. "Goddamn."

I always hated when he did that. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss those days. They were a lot easier – a little less painful.

Wiping the smile from his face, he points in mine. "Language."

The smiles back before I even roll my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," I taunt. "Whatever."

It doesn't matter how old I get, he'll always treat me like a kid.

And chances are, I'll always act like one.

"Don't yeah, yeah me boy, just get to work," he orders, tossing me the dirty rag. "We got to be at your mom's by noon."

.

.

**_Bella_**

The strong ocean breeze is biting, as it wisps and whirls, finding its way up the skirt of my dress and down the collar of my coat. I pull it tighter to cover the back of my neck, rocking from foot to foot on the creaking Agarwood.

It had been a few years since mom had it flown in from Singapore, having it placed strategically over the _boring, wood beams, _essentially paying out the ass for an infection. However, it does smell good, letting off a hint of musk and a lingering sweetness – which it should – seeing as the oil extracted from it is one the oldest used in high-class perfumes. And that's all that matters – to her anyway.

Only my mother.

Pushing the doorbell a second time, I wait patiently for someone to open the damn door.

"Come on," I grumble, pushing it a third, and then a fourth time in hopes of annoying them.

I never understood why they kept it locked, especially when they knew I was coming over.

Finally, I hear the click of the lock, and I push my way in.

"'Bout time, it's freezing out there." Shivering, I quickly pull off my coat and hang it up, before falling into the open arms of Daisy, my parents' live-in housekeeper. It's been too long since I've seen her; her tight, black bun growing grayer and grayer; her dark, ebony skin looking paler and paler every time I do.

Running her hands up and down my back, she helps warm me, making me feel more welcome than either of my parents ever could.

"Good to see ya, Miss Bella," she greets, kissing the side of my head, and I melt into her.

"You too. I missed you." I tell her, meaning it more than she could know.

Growing up she was more of a mother to me than my own; made all my meals, took me to the beach, cleaned, covered, and kissed every bruise, cut and scrape, and then wiped all the tears away.

She taught me everything I know, and I'm thankful for that.

I thank God for her every day knowing she's the reason I turned out nothing like my mother.

"They in the dining room?"

I feel her nod against my shoulder, before she pulls back, leaving her hands on my waist.

She squeezes.

"Yes. And they _all_ here, Miss Bella," she warns, with a purse of her lips and a quirk of her brow, grabbing my hand to pull me along and into the lion's den, where we find them _all _sitting around the lengthy, mahogany table.

The room is bright, the large windows allowing the shine of natural sunlight, though it's anything but warm.

"Have a seat, Isabella."

Mr. Newton's insistence sounds more like an order, so I quickly do; unrolling a white-linen napkin and smoothing it out over my lap, silently taking hold of my father's, as well as Mike's sweaty, outstretched hand.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts," Mrs. Newton starts, her eyes shut tight. She deepens the crease of her brow, showing the wrinkled signs of her age. And I notice how much older she looks next to my surgically-enhanced mother; my father, as he wiggles away an itch on his salt and pepper mustache; even Mr. Newton, who I'm pretty sure, just recently stopped bleaching the growing gray in his roots.

It's funny - the fact that she always says grace, even though she hasn't been to church in years; always too sick to go.

At least, that's what the God-fearing Senator would have you believe.

But, it's a lie.

Which we should know; being stock full of them.

All of us.

"...which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen," she concludes, and we all fall silent, if not for Mike's sniffles, and the clinking of our silverware against the flowered glass of our plates.

"Are you coming down with something, Mikey?" His mother asks, concern lacing her nasally voice.

I hold back a sarcastic snort when his father quickly answers for him.

"He's fine, Martha."

The silence resumes until Daisy picks up the last of the plates, and pours us all a warm cup of tea.

"How's the wedding coming along, Renee? Martha tells me she hasn't heard anything for awhile."

The Senator starts in and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Oh, wonderfully, just wonderfully, we've decided on a tiara."

Mrs. Newton huffs in distaste. "A tiara, Renee, really, what is she six?" She turns her glare to me. "Grown ladies wear veils – two-tiers, thirty inches." She measures with a hand, stopping at her waist. "Everybody knows that."

Opening my mouth to let her know I won't need either, I'm once again interrupted.

"Please, Martha, would you get hip with the times? This isn't the old days when it was still socially acceptable to marry your second cousin."

Mrs. Newton gasps in disgust, and I'm betting it's because Mr. Newton is, in fact, her second cousin.

"If she wants a tiara, she'll have a tiara, end of discussion."

The two have a glare-off, neither willing to back down, until Mr. Newton pipes back in.

"How about we ask _her_ what she wants? Isabella?" Turning, his icy blue eyes land on me.

"Tell us. What do you want?" He asks, and I swallow the lump in my throat before clearing it.

"I, uh…"

They all turn their heads to look at me expectantly.

"I don't want either," I shakily announce, and the two women burst into a fit, moaning and groaning, throwing their poufy heads of hair back in dramatics.

"So neither, it's settled," Mr. Newton says matter of fact, and my mother sighs.

"Really, Bella, you really want nothing?"

I nod slowly, realizing they don't get it, realizing I'm actually going to have to say it out loud.

"Yes, nothing…I, uh…" I stutter, and they all turn their attention back on me.

"Idon'twanttogetmarried," I blurt quietly, clearing my throat when they all shout in unison.

"What?!"

Turning towards Mike, I can barely look him in the eye.

But I do.

"I'm sorry, I can't marry you, Mike."

He almost looks relieved, as the table shakes with an uproar – screaming and yelling, the confused cries of our tipsy, heartbroken mothers.

Chaos surrounds us as I watch him and he watches me, understanding obvious in the upturn curve of both of our mouths.

That is until my father finally decides to speak up.

"Hey!" He barks, the deep bass in his voice rattling the frame of the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Everybody settle the hell down." And they do; a rare fear evident in their wide, down-turned eyes.

My father didn't speak up often, but when he did, you listened.

And I was listening.

We all were.

"Now, this family's been through a lot," he starts, not looking up, just _knowing_ we're all ears. "Ups and downs, good times and bad, and we got through them together."

I open my mouth to protest, to tell him that we'll get through this too, that I know it.

But he doesn't let me.

"This wedding's gonna happen," he says, shaking the whole table with every, emphasizing tap of the tip of his finger, before pointing it at me.

"No matter who the hell wants it to, or not."

.

.

**_Edward_**

Climbing out of the car, I look up at the three-story townhouse I used to call home.

Not much has changed over the years, not even the toys cluttering the two, small patches of grass – a pitiful excuse for a front lawn.

It hardly grew, and no matter how easily you could cut it with the dull blades of our push-mower, you still wound up with blisters all over your palms.

I look down at my hands.

That used to be my chore.

Following Mark across the one-way street, we jog up three, short steps, and onto the chipped, white paint of the porch.

I kick at a jagged piece, thinking maybe I should offer to paint it, but knowing I probably won't.

Painting it once was enough for me. Besides, it gives it character, and who doesn't like a house with a little character?

"You ready?" Mark asks, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I nod.

Walking in, I take a deep breath, breathing in the same smell of dust and mothballs, smothered by the suffocating, cinnamon scent of a thousand lit candles.

_"It's the wood." _My mother used to say. _"It's old."_

Scent memories flood my mind, as I take in another deep breath – where I dropped my book bag when I came home from school, the battle wounds Emmett and I suffered from racing up the stairs, pushing and pulling each other back down, both bound and determined to make it to the top first.

I smile.

The burst of warmth that rolled over my face from the gust of a just-open oven.

The taste of vanilla; how it burned into my tongue, too impatient for my mother's specialty - Snickerdoodles - to sit and cool.

Her hugs.

Her kisses.

It's way too much - remembering how it used to be - when I'm knocked in each of my sides, two pairs of little arms reaching to hug me around my middle.

"Uncle, Edward! Uncle, Edward! Did you bring us a present?" One of the little brats asks, and I look up at their father.

"Bree, Tia, that's enough now, give 'em some space," he orders, and they run off giggling into the other room.

"Sorry 'bout that. It's something Emmett started and now they expect it." He shrugs. "What are ya gonna do?"

_Oh, I don't know?_

_Beat their asses maybe?_

I think, but don't say.

I don't even really mean it, because truth be told, if I could afford to get them presents, I would.

"No problem, maybe next time."

With a knowing smile, he pats me on the shoulder, jerking his head for me to follow.

He leads me through the house, stopping just inside the kitchen, where he greets his wife with a kiss, his girls with a tug on each one of their braids, before pulling my brother in for a big, bear hug and waving to his very-pregnant wife, Rosalie.

I stand there offering a quiet _"hey,"_ more timid than I had meant it to be. And I'm shocked when my brother let's go of Mark, walking right over to give me one too.

"Hey, little bro," he says, giving me a squeeze, and I hug him tighter.

Swearing to myself that if he fucking makes me cry…

"Missed you around here, man." He pats my back, and I return the sentiment.

"Missed you too."

We embrace for a beat longer, before I'm pulling away, uncomfortable with the stares of our silent audience.

He nods in the direction of the back door.

"She's out back."

* * *

This chapter... *sighs* I think it's my favorite.

**Now... *rubs hand together* who's ready for more lemons?**


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, quotations etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**_Edward_**

_(Flashback)_

_Port Crescent Park _

_It's been abandoned for years, ever since the fire; a true ghost town in every sense of the word; made up of hollowed out buildings, grown-over gravel, and this baseball field._

_And it's perfect._

_Perfect for us, you know, the 'troubled' kids, who no longer have permission to join a real league; mostly due to the offensive nature of our everyday language._

_What the fuck ever._

_None of us wanted to wear some stupid, team shirt anyway._

_With our luck the sponsor would be the local Dick's Diner._

_And who wants to run around with Dick on their shirt?_

_Stepping on deck, I wipe the sweat from my forehead._

_It's the bottom of the ninth and we're down by one._

_Fast Freddy's on first, side-stepping out and into a wide stance, ready, sneaking his way closer in order to steal second. _

_Our own, white Jackie Robinson, that one._

_And Crowley's up, God help us._

_Two more outs and it's over._

_We're done._

_…We're done._

_I restlessly swing the make-shift bat we made from a thrown-out table we found in the neighbor's trash heap; couldn't afford a real spare, so we broke the legs right off, now we got four._

_"Hey batter-batter-batter, sa-wing, batter!" Jimmy taunts, as Teddy, Freddy's twin brother, winds up; pulling it back, he snaps forward, and… _

_It's a swing and a miss!_

_Not surprising in the least._

_"Hey, cry-baby Crowley, you gonna cry? You gonna hit it this time, huh, or you gonna miss it like you always do, huh cry-baby?" _

_Jimmy's a dick with a loud mouth, who likes to start fights about as much as he likes finishing them. _

_He has a mean right hook and a bad attitude. None of us can stand him, but we keep him around for the simple fact that we need another body. And it doesn't hurt that he can hit something other than our faces._

_"Wah-wah, Crowley's gonna cry!" He mocks, wringing fake tears from his cheeks. "You suck, Crowley!"_

_I just shake my head; usually keeping my mouth shut, because I know the truth._

_That his father's an even bigger dick. _

_And if he wasn't here starting fights with us, his old man would be starting fights with him. _

_It's fairer this way._

_Shaking it off, Crowley warms up his swing, kicks up some dirt, before crouching back down. _

_Big Willie's filling in for short stop, so we might have a chance if Crowley hits a grounder, but he won't. He never hits anything._

_"Wha-wha, Crowley's gonna cry!"_

_Tucking in, Teddy winds up, his knee nearly touching his earlobe, before pulling back and stepping out, hurling the ball like he's Hideo-fucking-Nomo._

_Bending at the waist, I huff out a laugh, standing back up just in time to see Crowley swing, and…_

_Strike two!_

_We're fucked._

_Slamming the bat down onto home plate, Crowley kicks at the dirt, not bothering with warm ups, and crouches down at the ready._

_"Don't blow it this time, Crowley!" Jimmy starts up again. "Don't blow it like I heard you did Big Willie, over there!" _

_"Shut the fuck up, Jimmy!" I shout, having had enough._

_Dead-beat dad or not, I was over it._

_It was too hot for this shit._

_"Says who?" He shouts back, taking a few steps in field._

_I stay in place. "My ears, they're fuckin' bleeding!"_

_If this fucker wants to mess with me, he'll have to come to me. _

_But I know he won't. _

_He never does. _

_The boys all have a laugh, and Jimmy pushes Jake, walking back to his place in left field._

_Crowley rolls his neck in an attempt to loosen up. Taking a couple practice swings, he crouches back down again. _

_I close my eyes to the ridiculousness taking place on the pitcher's mound, and hear the swoosh of the bat._

_Strike three._

_"All hail Crowley, the best player on our team!" _

_Opening my eyes, I walk up to the plate, picking up the bat from the ground._

_Fucker could've at least handed it to me._

_I _did_ defend him._

_A roll of my wrist and a twist of my ankle and I'm ready to go; bending slightly at the knees, there's no show to my stance._

_Teddy winds up; pulling it back, he snaps forward, and… _

_CRACK!_

_Following through, I hold it, watching as the ball flies higher and higher, farther and farther, right over and into the remains of an old, brick building._

_Thunder rumbles across the sky as I drop the bat._

_Jogging to first base, I feel the blow of a cool breeze._

_Drops of rain beat against me replacing the slaps of my teammates._

_It's pouring down by the time I make my way around, planting a foot firmly on the buried brick we call home base. We all scatter as lighting flashes across the sky, more interested in living, than celebrating our win. _

_Booking it down Heron street, I jump over cracks in the sidewalk, dodging across the road, just missing the bumper of a speeding Sable. The driver honks his horn, screaming out of the cracked window._

_"Hey, watch it!"_

_I flip him off; heart pumping, my lungs screaming for air as I stop under the awning of Uncle Sal's Cellar – a fairly shady pawn shop with an equally shady name – realizing I've left Crowley back there without a second thought._

_Shit._

_Standing there, I catch my breath, contemplating running back to see if he stupidly snuck inside one of the roofless buildings, getting lost in all the rubble; something I wouldn't hesitate put passed him._

_Another crack of thunder and I flinch with the second bolt of lightning to flash across the sky._

_Ah well, never said I was a _good _friend. _

_Taking off in the direction I was headed, I try, but fail to avoid the pooling puddles, soaking my shoes all the way through, before finally turning onto my street, just reaching the top step of my house as another bolt of lightning lights up the sky, shooting down to strike one of Mrs. Mavis' Maple trees._

_I watch in wide-mouthed wonder, as it sparks and catches fire, falling to the ground only to be doused in a pool of rain water, before busting through the front door._

_"Hey Ma, you're never gonna bel-" My excitement dissolves at the entrance to the living room, where I find my mom and Emmett; his head buried in her lap, sobbing into the flowers on her favorite, summer dress._

_As she strokes his brown curls, I brace myself against the door frame to stop the room from spinning._

_I've never seen my big brother cry before._

_"Ma?"_

_(End flashback)_

.

.

Walking up behind her, I watch her hunched shoulders; how they quickly rise and fall, almost bringing the stitched, russet wolf to life on the loosely draped fabric of her afghan.

She looks small.

Too small; sitting on the far side of the same old, rusted, lawn chair that's been here since before my late grandmother even owned the place.

_Jesus._

She could fit two of her in there, for Christ sake, and still be fucking comfortable.

Pulling at the ends of my too-long hair, I feel a prickle around the edge of my eyes, and look back to see Emmett standing on the other side of the screen.

Waving me on, he steps back, shutting the door. And I swallow the burn, turning back around, before clearing my throat.

"Ma?"

She's quick to turn her head, looking sallow and sunken, smiling up at me like that first day she told us about the cancer.

I wasn't stupid.

I wasn't blind with denial.

I could see her.

I could see her fragile bones jutting out from under the thin blanket.

I could see the dark circles under her tired eyes; the pale, wrinkled skin that surrounded them.

It was back.

I must have been standing there staring too long when she tries to get up; the simple task seeming too much of a struggle. The sight knocks me out of my stupor and I place a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

I pull up a chair opposite hers.

"Don't strain yourself or nothin', it's only me."

I smirk, trying to make light of a heavy situation. I was always trying to make light; made things easier.

"Yeah, well…" Reaching for my hand, she squeezes it. "I missed you."

She doesn't wait for me to say it back 'cause she knows I won't. I've always been a pussy like that; too cool to express what my family really meant to me, which was a lot – a whole hell of a lot. But you'd never know it.

I wasn't aware of a time I actually said _I love you. _I couldn't remember a hug that I ever initiated. And I rarely returned one.

Don't ask me why 'cause I couldn't tell you. All I know is I don't, I can't. And she knows that.

So, instead of waiting for the words she knows I won't say, she jumps into her favorite game - twenty questions; which in reality, turns into about two-hundred and twenty questions.

_Where are you living, what are you eating, are you staying out of trouble, do you have the same parole officer?_

When I tell her no, she goes off on another tangent.

_Well, do you like this new parole officer, what do you mean he wears red, high-top shoes, what's that got to do with anything, is he being nice to you, you'd tell me if he wasn't being nice to you, right? _

Leaning back, I run my hands over my face, hiding my wide smile, silently chuckling into them.

What if he wasn't? What was she gonna do then, personally kick his ass?

That, I'd like to see.

"Edward Anthony Cullen, you'd tell me if he wasn't being nice to you, right?" She repeats, and I nod, placating her with yet another lie; easily adding to the long list of them.

"Yes, I would tell you if my parole officer wasn't being nice to me."

She regards me for a moment, before turning her attention to the bare table beside her; the umbrella long gone. It was destroyed the same day as Mrs. Mavis' tree.

It's a little unnerving sitting in silence. And all of a sudden I'm very aware of my hands, and how I don't know what to do with them.

Cracking my knuckles, I stretch my fingers, clasping then unclasping them to rest against the rusted, chair handles. I pick at the chipped paint.

"How are you, Edward?"

My stomach flips with all the things I can't tell her. All the things I won't tell her, like the shitty condition I'm living in, or how I already broke parole, having stupidly paraded myself around the old stomping grounds, bumping into the one man that could truly end me and most likely will.

Then there's Bella.

"Fine," I lie, sitting up straighter, adjusting my numbing ass in the chair.

She doesn't buy it.

Leaning forward, she grabs my hand again, forcing me to look her in the dimmed, green eye.

"How are you,_ really_?" She asks, and my chest tightens.

_Really?_

Really, I try not the think about it.

But I'm bad.

Really bad.

The worst I've ever been, I think.

No, I know.

I can deal with the shitty conditions; whatever; it's fine. I can deal with the threats and the asshole that's making them; it's no big thing.

What I can't deal with is the fact that she'll never know her.

She'll never know _about_ her.

Bella.

And it breaks my heart.

"I'm fine, Ma, really." I give what I think is a good smile, and squeeze her hand back, wishing I could tell her all about the woman that she'll never know, the one who'll never really be in my life.

But I can't, so I don't.

I just lean back when she goes quiet again, biting at the nail on her thumb, while I pick at some more paint.

We both look up at the sticky sound of an opening door.

"You 'bout ready?" Emmett yells from behind the screen. "If we don't leave now, we're gonna be late."

Waving him off, she turns back to face me, her eyes looking just as pained as her small voice sounds.

"Edward."

My heart skips a beat.

It's probably close to six, and I know exactly what they're gonna be late for.

When I don't look up, she stills my fidgety hand.

_Don't say it._

_Don't fucking say it._

_Please._

"I want you to go to evening Mass with me."

.

.

My Grandmother used to say that St. Petersburg Church was a special place, built from the ground up with only, and all, the sacred jewels – diamonds, emeralds, ruby and pearl – just to name a few. "_They were stacked to the heavens by the loving hands of God himself, Anthony, do you see?"_ she would ask, pointing up to the bell tower, blocking out the blinding sun. _"That's heaven, Anthony, right above the very point. And if you're a good boy, you'll go there one day," _she'd say, patting my head, before tapping my butt. _"Run along now, and stay away from that little hoodlum Tyler Crowley. He and his family's already bought their one way ticket to Hades."_

The poor, old bat, you couldn't blame her, not after the dementia set in anyway.

But she was right about one thing, Crowley had already bought his one way ticket to Hades and I was traveling right along beside him.

It's a wonder the whole place didn't catch fire once the two of us stepped through the open, mahogany doors.

"Thought you wasn't comin' back?" He smirks, earning a quieting hiss from his_ lovely _wife Jessica.

"Behave or go home. I will not have you embarrassin' me, Tyler Crowley. Do you hear me?"

She was worse than his mother.

"Yeah, Babe, I hear you."

Adjusting the baby girl on her hip, she glares, nagging under her breath. "Do not call me _Babe _here; this is Mass for Christ's sake. Be respectable."

Popping her gum, she turns to my mother and smiles. "Hey there, Mrs. C, it's good to see you out and about." Her eyes briefly flit up to me, and the smile fades. "Edward."

I nod and she smiles back down at my mother, patting the arm that I'm supporting with mine. "You should sit with us, please. We'll save you a seat."

Crowley follows her swaying ponytail and I help my mother kneel. Looking up at the crucifix, she makes the sign of the cross, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes. A lot of good it's done her so far.

Helping her up is a cinch since she weighs next to nothing, and I practically carry her to her seat; her weak legs even weaker from the exertion she insists on causing herself with this biblical bullshit.

When we reach our saved seats, she's adamant on sitting next to Jessica's mother, so I'm stuck next to Crowley.

This should be good.

It begins with a hymn as the ministers and Priest enter; approaching the altar to kiss it in reverence of the sacrifice Christ paid for our salvation or whatever.

I quietly scoff.

I could teach them a thing or two about sacrifice.

"Hey," I whisper, tapping Crowley on the side of the leg. "Is that Father O'Malley?" He nods, scratching his bushy eyebrow.

"What the fuck is he still doing here?" I innocently ask, earning a slap on the side of my leg. My mother hisses in my ear, "language."

I give her a look that conveys how sorry I am, even though I'm really not. And I turn back to Crowley.

"I thought they caught 'em with his skirt up, little Billy Black kneelin' underneath it," I say, remembering the day I heard it. I'm pretty sure it was even on the six o'clock news.

That could've been any one of us kids for Christ's sake.

I'm waiting for Crowley to reply when I feel a sharp pain shoot through the lobe of my ear. My mother pulls it down, so it's mouth level.

"Edward Anthony, so help me God. Father O'Malley is a respectable man of the cloth, and you will treat him as such. We all know that little Billy Black was always telling fibs and stealing sips of the sacramental wine."

"Besides," she adds, finally easing up on my pulsating earlobe, "that almost never happens."

Rubbing my ear, I feel like that once, little boy, scanning the pews. I don't why; making sure nobody saw, or searching for familiar faces, I guess.

It's the moment I spot three that I wish I hadn't.

Sitting across the aisle, a few rows back, is the Senator and his son. And beside crack-head blondie...Bella.

My heart seizes, and my lungs fold in on themselves. I struggle to breathe, struggle not to look back as everyone bows their head and prays. And I actually consider trying it myself.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, I pray I fucking disappear. _

_Amen._

When the service finally ends, I wave down Emmett, asking him to help Ma out to the car.

I don't wait for a reply, as I uncharacteristically lean down and kiss her cheek, telling her I love her and that I'll see her later, 'cause maybe I won't.

I don't know.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I stop just behind Bella, tempted to bash blondie's skull in when I see he's holding her hand. Fisting my fingers, I regroup, itching to take hers in mine, desperate to touch the waves in her blowing, brown hair. But instead, I lean down to whisper into them. "I need to see you tonight."

She stiffens under my light touch to the back of her arm, briefly meeting my eyes when I walk past and out the open doors.

.

.

It's half-passed eleven when she finally shows up, her bare legs first to climb out of the shiny, new car.

Standing, I throw my half-smoked cigarette down and grind it out on the ground, as her heels tap closer and closer against it.

When she's close enough, I grab her hand.

I pull her along and into the house, up the stairs and into my room, slamming and then locking the door behind us.

We don't talk 'cause I don't wanna talk.

I don't care how her day's been.

And I don't want her to know anything about mine.

I just wanna fuck.

I just wanna fuck this whole fucking day right out of my fucking system. And I want her to be the one that takes it.

My cock.

My tension.

The pain that's unwelcomingly wormed its way inside, setting deep in the center of my chest.

I want her to fucking feel it.

Grabbing the waves that I was earlier, so desperate to touch, I pull her head back, taking her mouth with mine.

I suck hard on her lips, and her tongue, making her cry out in pleasure or in pain; I don't care, as long as she cries.

Backing up, I spin her around, pushing her over the arm of the floral chair, lifting her dress to find her open and bare, ready for me.

My sweet girl.

I soothingly rub her ass.

Always ready.

Always knows.

Working the buckle of my jeans, I slide to my knees.

Nuzzling her soft cheeks, I spread her open, slowly licking from crack to clit.

And my girl moans.

She fucking moans 'cause she likes it.

She likes this.

Being taken and used like the nothing that we are.

She likes the slick warmth of my tongue slipping back up to wet the clenching crack of her ass.

I want her here.

I want her there.

I'm like fucking Dr. Seuss, I want her everywhere.

I just want her.

Steadily pumping my cock, I work my way back down to her slit, tonguing her already-wet opening, spreading the sticky sweetness that pools there.

Once she's mewling and greedily pushing back into my face, I pull back, biting her cheek and she squeals.

Standing, I line myself up with her sweet, slick opening.

And I play.

Shallowly pushing in, I watch as the shiny head disappears between soft, pink flesh; pulling out with a pop and push back in.

I do her dirty like that till she's begging for more, her impatient hips pushing back to meet mine.

I slap her ass telling her to "Stop."

"Don't fucking move."

Kicking her heeled feet apart, I grab a handful of that thick, brown hair, pulling her back as I push in deep.

"Cry for me," I order and she does; my name, my praises, begging for the full length of my stiff cock.

I'm tempted to deny her orgasm, get off on the gripping suck of her hole and then kick her out.

I want her to hurt.

I want her to feel used and useless like I do every day.

Every day I have to share her with somebody else.

Tugging harder on that long, brown hair, I pull her to my mouth.

"Tell me you want me, only me," I order, my words labored as I pound harder into her slippery heat. She feels so much tighter this way.

_Fuck._

When she whimpers, I bite her precious, pierced ear.

"Ah!" she screams, still denying me what I want.

I don't want her shy defiance.

I don't want her unsure fuss.

I want to hear her say it.

I want to hear her _mean_ it.

"Fucking say it," I growl, tugging a little harder, and she obeys, crying like I fucking told her to.

My sweet girl.

"I want you, only you! Fuck, Edward!"

I softly kiss the teeth marks I left in her reddening earlobe; silently telling her I want this, but I want _more_ than this – a good, filthy fuck.

I want _her_ and all that entails.

Heart.

Mind.

Body.

Soul.

I want _my _ring around her finger.

I want to fuck her while she's bent over _our_ ugly ass, sitting chair.

I want to throw out her fucking birth control, fill her with a good load of cum, and watch her belly grow with it; making this what it should be.

What _we_ should be.

Together.

One big, happy, fucking family.

Reaching around, I palm her, pressing hard against her slippery mound, and find her swollen clit.

As much as I want to, I won't do it.

I won't deny her.

I want her to know what she could have.

What _we _could have.

What she'll be giving up.

What she's already given up to hold the sweaty palm of that sniffling piece of shit.

I want her to know this is the last time I'll fuck what's not mine.

And I want her to miss it.

Picking up the pace, I pound harder, fucking her from behind and into my hand, until I feel her clench around me, milking me for it; what she really wants.

And I give it to her.

I give it to her good; balls tightening, growling out in shear, fucking bliss as I explode; pulsating streams of pent-up need, before collapsing, and lazily rocking through the lasting waves of the blow.

Resting my lips against her heaving shoulder, I softly kiss it, resisting the urge to bite.

I don't want to hurt her anymore.

I don't want to cause her any more pain than I already have, because even though it feels like it, I know I'm not alone in this.


End file.
